Crimson and White
by Unliteration
Summary: Bound by fear. Third story in the Ladder series.
1. Crimson and White

Chapter 1

Bubbles soared through the Townsville skies, intent on her task. Mojo Jojo had already put one visiting hero out of commission, and their town needed its true heroes again. This time she had to go it alone.

Hovering above the rooftops, the sun at her back, Bubbles surveyed the scene outside the bank. Mojo crouched in front of one of his Robo Jojos, piling bags of money into an open compartment.

Bubbles dove, wanting to stop him while he was still vulnerable, before he climbed into his latest technological monstrosity. She drew close, and Mojo stood and spun on his heel, pointing some sort of gun at her.

Did something tip him off? Had it been a shadow? A reflection? Would she have made that mistake if Blossom were guiding her?

She was too close. She tried to swerve as a bolt of white-hot flame flew out of the gun. She twisted in the air, trying to dodge.

A line of pain stretched from the bridge of her nose through her right eye. A searing heat felt like it burned her to the core. An explosion of agony erupted in her head, and for a time it was all she knew. Carried by her momentum, she tore up pavement as she rolled along, coming to a stop when she cracked the wall of a nearby office building.

Mojo gathered up his bags as Bubbles rolled and writhed on the sidewalk, her peals of suffering filling the empty streets, echoing from the structures that towered over them. It was as if the city had gone quiet to allow those cries to be set loose uncontested. These were not the screams of a fallen hero, but of a suffering child.

Careful to avoid looking in her direction, his blank expression seeming a little stiff, Mojo closed the hatch and took flight, leaving her to squirm and scream in solitude.

* * *

Sometimes when something grows beyond a single piece, the next logical milestone is a trilogy. Once again, perhaps even moreso than Unstrung, we are grounded to reality for better or worse. As always, the focus is on horror and the forms it can take. As before, its form here is a bit different than the previous stories.

To new readers, I highly recommend reading Ladder and Unstrung prior to this story. Past events are mentioned or explained where necessary, so it is not necessary to read those to understand this story. However, being familiar with the previous stories should enhance the experience of Crimson and White. There's also the risk of Crimson and White spoiling the earlier stories if it is read first.

Once again, a suggested musical accompaniment is provided based on the pieces listened to while writing the actual chapters. Even if one doesn't care to dig up the music (I try to use the freely-available Broken Notes and other fan pieces as much as possible), by some odd happenstance they often serve as somewhat meaningful chapter titles.

01 - Tight Chains - No Way Out (Ashes of Bitterness)  
02 - Death of the Butterfly (Endless Delusions)  
03 - Lonesome Walk (Letters from Condemned Worlds)  
04 - Uncertain Sympathy (Letters from Condemned Worlds)  
05 - Awaken (Letters from Condemned Worlds)  
06 - Midnight Corridors (Broken Notes Intermission Vol 1)  
07 - Servants of Fear (Endless Delusions)  
08 - Tears of Angels (Broken Notes Sanitorium Vol 2)  
09 - Lunarium (Endless Delusions)  
10 - Happy Little Monster (Letters from Condemned Worlds)  
11 - Muse (Silent Hill Fan Soundtrack)  
12 - Two Evils (Silent Hill 4 Limited Edition)  
13 - Repentance (Ashes of Bitterness)  
14 - Palliative Solutions (The Art of Dying)  
15 - Sundown (Endless Delusions)  
16 - In Memoriam (The Art of Dying)  
17 - Late Night Walk (The Art of Dying)  
18 - The Crimson Nights (Essentia)  
19 - Drowned Memories (Essentia)  
20 - Loneliness By Your Side (Essentia)  
21 - Alternative (Endless Delusions)  
22 - Surface Tension (Silent Hill 3 Unreleased)  
23 - Triptych (Endless Delusions)  
24 - The Art of Dying (The Art of Dying)  
25 - Haunted - Unknown Floor (Ashes of Bitterness)  
26 - In the Dark (Letters from Condemned Worlds)  
27 - Erratic Shapes (Essentia)  
28 - The Fog, Part II (Broken Notes Sanatorium Vol 2)  
29 - Cold Blood - Theme of Josh (Silent Hill 5)  
30 - Stairway to Heaven (Broken Notes Unreleased)


	2. Tight Chains - No Way Out

Chapter 2

[Tight Chains - No Way Out]

Bubbles had slept fitfully, troubled by strange dreams she could not remember, awakening every hour or so from the pain of her wound. Every time her tears flowed, her pain only increased. This time she awoke to see dawn creeping through the windows, realizing that her first night at the hospital had finally passed.

Her right eye was covered with a sterile bandage, held in place with a gauze headwrap. She'd tried just once to use her penetrating vision to look through the bandage, but the resulting agony almost made her black out. After several minutes of wheezing out cries of "owie," "please stop," and "no more" between dry sobs, she decided to not try that again.

In a way she was glad that had happened while she was alone, since the nurses could have done nothing for her but raise a futile fuss. The morphine had done little, and despite his promises to help, Professor Utonium hadn't found any better means of pain relief.

He left last night, saying he had to go pick up some things from the house. Bubbles had asked why he didn't just send Blossom.

After a moment of silence, he had replied, "She's run off somewhere." It seemed he hadn't intended to let that slip, as he hastily added, "I'm sure she'll turn up soon."

Bubbles caught herself before she rolled her eyes. She didn't want to risk that even that simple gesture would increase her pain. Better to keep her eyes firmly fixed, blink occasionally, and turn her head to look around.

What had become of their family? After Buttercup's death, things started to fall apart. Blossom grew so distant, so unlike herself. For a moment, there was a ray of sunshine in their lives when Blossom had taken it upon herself to create another sister.

Blossom had called her Ashley. Bubbles loved the name as much as she loved the girl, until Blossom admitted she used some of Buttercup's ashes in her making. Now it seemed a macabre joke.

Blossom's obsession with restoring Buttercup to life in some fashion had led to Ashley, the spitting image of Buttercup at the age of five, as when Bubbles and her sisters were first created. Blossom and Bubbles were eleven years old now, so Ashley had seemed more like a new, little sister than Buttercup reborn. Also unlike Buttercup, Ashley had been shy but also clingy and full of love.

There had also been something unmistakably wrong with her. The first time she chased down a criminal, a petty purse snatcher, she killed him and seemed unaware she'd done anything wrong. Not even an hour after that, she killed herself.

Two days. Ashley had only been with the family for two days, and now she was gone as well.

Bubbles squinted as her tears burned her injured eye again.

A quiet knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," Bubbles said weakly.

The door swung open slowly as Professor Utonium slipped in, a bag slung over one shoulder and a suitcase in hand.

His smile faltered when he looked up. "Sorry I was out all night, sweetie. How does it feel today?"

"Bad," Bubbles said hoarsely.

"I'm sorry," Professor said genuinely. "The doctors are still thinking of ways to mask the pain."

"Can't you just use Antidote X on me?" Bubbles pleaded. "Maybe then the medicine will work better?"

Professor's face drooped a bit as he sighed. "I'm sorry, honey, but that might make the pain even worse. With your powers, you might get better...better. Sooner, even."

"But when will that be?" Bubbles asked. The helpless expression on her face was heartbreaking.

Professor's eyes welled with the tears his daughter dare not shed, though he forced a smile through them. "I don't know."

Bubbles sighed and stared at the ceiling.

"I brought some things with me," Professor said after a few moments of silence. "I'll be staying here as much as I can."

"What about Blossom?" Bubbles asked. She was still angry with her sister, but it was better than being alone. Besides, Bubbles had said some very mean things yesterday and wanted to apologize.

After several seconds, Professor had still not answered.

Bubbles leaned up to look at him. His mouth hung open slightly, but he did not speak.

"What about Blossom?" Bubbles asked again, more urgently.

Professor's voice quivered as he spoke. "She...ah... She went home...last night. And, uh..." He stopped here, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. It was a tremendous effort to open his eyes and look at Bubbles again. For a moment he just shook his head gently. His voice was tight when he managed to speak again. "I'm sorry."

Bubbles's left eye grew wide. Surely not. Surely it couldn't be that. Not again.

Professor sniffled and continued. "There was, ah... There was an...an accident." Professor didn't know exactly why Blossom had done what she'd done. Her actions led to her death, but he did not think it right to call it a suicide. "I'm so sorry," he repeated.

"No," Bubbles said, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. "No, it can't—she can't—" A pause. "I'm...alone?"

Professor's face contorted in anguish. He rushed to the bedside, embracing his daughter as she lay on the bed. "We still have each other," he promised. "We'll...we'll get through this." He faltered as he spoke. How many times had he said those words in the last few weeks?

"I'm alone?" Bubbles asked again. "They're all gone, now."

Bubbles had still not responded to his hug. It was as if he wasn't even there. She stared at the ceiling, eye darting around a little as she thought to herself.

Bubbles laughed. Just two brief spurts, but she laughed. Even curved her lips in a soft smile while her mouth hung open in deep thought.

"It's down to me, now, isn't it?" Her smile grew. "The city. The world." She laughed again, more heartily. "There's only one of us left now, and she's half-blind." Her proclamation was followed by a stream of laughter so loud it could be heard in the hallway and nearby rooms.

At first, Professor could only stare, uncertain what to do. After Bubbles had carried on for half a minute, the apparent humor she saw in it increased, and she started pounding on the bed as her laughter increased to an ear-splitting cackle. She kicked with her heel and pounded her head against the pillow. The bed squeaked and groaned in protest.

Professor bent over her again, putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her, but not having the strength to do so.

"Bubbles," he pleaded. "Bubbles, please!"

To his great relief, she stopped laughing, instead panting hard as she caught her breath. Still smiling softly, she closed her eye. After her breathing returned to normal, she opened her eye again, still half-smiling.

"Everything's different now, huh?"

After a pause, Professor nodded.

"Could it just be a bad dream?" she asked as her smile slowly vanished.

After a longer pause, Professor said, "I don't think so, sweetie."

Bubbles smiled more strongly. "That's okay. I don't like bad dreams anyway."

Professor noticed a small but growing patch of red on the wrappings over her right eye.

"I think they may need to change your bandages, honey," Professor said calmly, reaching over to push the call button. "Is everything else okay? Are you hungry? Do you need to potty?"

Bubbles shook her head and sat upright, for the moment welcoming the childish treatment. "I don't feel sick in my tummy anymore, either."

A nurse soon stepped into the room.

"Everything all right in here?" she asked gently.

"Her bandage," Professor said, pointing.

The nurse's eyes widened briefly before she nodded and left the room. She returned a short while later with some fresh wrappings.

"The doctor will be here in a minute. How's your eye feeling, honey?" the nurse asked.

"A little better," Bubbles said. "Did you find some better pain medicine?"

"Sorry, baby, I don't know if they have," the nurse replied as she began undoing the head wrap. "Are you feeling hungry this morning?" she asked.

"Not yet," Bubbles replied, holding still as the nurse worked.

"Well, you should still order yourself a little something. Even just to nibble on, okay? I'll have them bring in a menu."

"That's okay," Bubbles said.

"No, no, I insist. Now, hold on, this might sting a little. Let me know if it starts to hurt too bad, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," Bubbles said, clenching her jaw tightly in preparation.

The nurse gingerly pulled back on the bandage, but it came loose without any protest from Bubbles.

A well-stitched gash ran from the bridge of her nose horizontally across part of her right eyelid. Although whatever Mojo had shot appeared to be a blast of energy, these wounds hinted at a projectile.

Bubbles's eyelid was closed, gummed shut by old blood. Strangely, while no part of her wound visibly bled, fresh blood now somehow covered the area as well.

"Good morning," a doctor greeted when he stepped into the room, closing the door behind and pulling closed the curtain around the bed. "I'm here to have a look at that eye of yours."

"Am I going to be blind, doctor?" Bubbles asked while the nurse cleaned the blood from the area. "It's okay if I am. I just want to know."

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see," the doctor said diplomatically as he read something on a clipboard. "You girls have pulled through tougher scrapes. I'm sure the professor and Blossom will help you through this."

Professor winced at the mention of Blossom. The news of that loss wasn't public knowledge yet. In any case, it had been so recent.

"Doctor," the nurse interrupted, trying to hide the worry in her voice. She slid aside to offer an unobstructed view.

The area the nurse had just cleaned was slowly pooling with blood again. Bubbles's lip quivered as she cried, tears pooling in her good eye. The doctor leaned in for a closer look at the other, pulling a penlight out of his pocket.

A drop of blood flowed from her right nostril, and she snorted. "Hey," she said, as a tear trailed down one cheek at the same time a drop of blood trickled down the other. "It doesn't hurt when I cry anymore."


	3. Death Of The Butterfly

Chapter 3

[Death Of The Butterfly]

Later in the day, Bubbles was returned to her room following an MRI. Meanwhile, the Professor was still busy consulting with a renowned anesthesiologist about options for pain management and associated risks.

This conversation was interrupted when Bubbles's doctor knocked on the office window.

Professor Utonium excused himself to step into the hallway. The doctor walked them towards a nearby, empty conference room, speaking as they went.

"We've finished our analysis of the scan," he said. "We're still considering the implications, but this latest symptom appears to be fairly superficial. There's a minor bleed into the nasolacrimal duct, likely caused by the physical trauma and exacerbated by swelling while crying." They finally reached the conference room. They did not sit, but instead stood just inside, closing the door behind them. "It doesn't appear to be serious in any case, and will likely clear itself up in time. I'm still awaiting a second opinion from a colleague, but for the moment I believe the best response is to let it be for a week or two before risking surgery."

"That sounds good, I suppose. So, in layman's terms, what is she suffering?"

"Essentially, some blood will seep out when she tears up. Likewise for any drainage from the ducts through her nose. It might be mildly uncomfortable and a bit unhygienic, but by appearances it's not painful and shouldn't have any significant effect on her recovery."

"She complained of pain with her tears earlier," Professor pointed out.

"Yes, I saw that. It's possible she forced out a minor clot or other obstruction, or that her body is simply healing."

"So, do you have any other news, yet?"

"Regarding her general physical health, she seems to be doing very well. She's certainly stable. The injury was painful enough I'm sure it was quite a shock to her system, but the worst of it has already passed. Insofar as her eye is concerned, it's still too early to say. We have another specialist arriving sometime this afternoon to give his opinion."

The doctor sighed at this point. After a brief pause, he added, "I'm sure there are some concerns for her mental state as well. Between your family's recent loss and other confusion, I'm sure this injury is only making things harder for her. We have some mental health specialists on staff. I could recommend a few of them if you think Bubbles could take some time to speak with them."

Professor said nothing, but eventually nodded gently.

"I'll send someone by the room to speak with you," the doctor promised.

Again, Professor nodded.

"And please keep in mind that Blossom or even you yourself might appreciate some time to talk with them as well. I'm sure if I were in your position, I'd need someone to talk to at this point."

Professor smiled weakly and turned his gaze to the door. In return, the doctor opened it and invited Professor to leave the room.

Several minutes later, Professor was back in Bubbles's hospital room. She was watching television, but as today was Monday and school was still in session, there was little on it to hold her attention.

"Is there anyone to look after the city?" Bubbles asked when Professor returned.

"Ms. Bellum knows the situation. I'm sure she's contacted the Association of World Super Heroes by now."

"They've had to spend a lot of time here, huh?" Bubbles commented.

Professor nodded. More than a month ago, he and his girls had ventured into space in search of some nefarious pirates that had terrorized the Earth briefly. They asked the Association to look after things while they were away, but when they returned with their sister in a casket, Blossom and Bubbles needed time to mourn as well. Yesterday was supposed to have been the Association's last day.

"How is E-Male?" Bubbles asked. He'd been on duty yesterday, and Bubbles had only been forced to take action after Mojo had incapacitated him inside the bank.

"Yesterday they said he'd likely be hospitalized for at least a few weeks. I'm sure he'll be here for a while. I don't think he's stable enough to move yet. Mojo shot him in the side, and there was some internal damage."

"I bet those guys think we're a bunch of babies," Bubbles said, defeated.

"Now, honey, the fact that E-Male is stuck in this same hospital should tell anyone that this isn't an easy job you have."

"I know," Bubbles admitted. "But who's going to stop Mojo, now?"

"They'll be ready for him this time. Maybe they'll send the whole Association to teach him a lesson."

Bubbles smiled. "I guess it helps to have teammates." An uncomfortable silence drifted across the room before Bubbles spoke again. "Do you think I can do it by myself?"

Professor shook his head in weariness. "I don't think you need to worry about that question right now, sweetie. I think you should just leave that business to others for a while."

"But didn't you say that the best way to move on from stuff like this is to get back to our lives?"

"Well, yes, but so much more has happened since then. I think it's a good idea to respect that. I'm also thinking about speaking to a grief counselor. It would really make me feel better if you did the same."

Bubbles slowly closed and opened her eye, sighed, and sat in silence for a moment. Eventually, she smiled weakly and replied, "Okay, I guess."

"That's my girl," Professor said.

"I guess I'm going to miss the rest of the school year," Bubbles mused. Summer vacation was fast approaching, and the girls had already missed so much of the final months of the semester. "Do you think they'll hold me back a grade?"

"I doubt that."

After a pause, Bubbles noted, "I guess Blossom won't be able to help with homework anymore. Or either of them with super-hero stuff." Her face suddenly scrunched up. "Daddy, I'm scared."

Professor was immediately at her left side, holding her hand. "It's okay, sweetie."

"No, it's not!" Bubbles insisted. "It's just me, now. I've never been the strong one. I've never been the smart one. I can't do anything by myself! How do I know they won't come looking for me, now that it's just one of us? If the bad guys team up again, maybe they'll kill me, too, and then we'll all be gone."

She pointed at her eye bandage. "Look at this. Mojo did this all by himself." She started to cry. "He's wanted to 'destroy' us for six years, now. Maybe now he can get away with it."

"Don't cry, sweetie," Professor cooed. "I don't think its good for your eye."

She tried to smile, but her mouth only shook. "Does it really matter?" She sniffled and rubbed her good eye to clear her vision. "Who knows if I'll even still be around in another week?"

"Shh, don't say things like that."

"Why not? Do you know? Can you promise me? Can anyone?"

Professor had no response other than a tender gaze.

Bubbles stared at the ceiling again. "What about Blossom and Ashley's funerals?"

"Ms. Bellum's making arrangements again."

"That's awful," Bubbles said, still staring at the ceiling. "She just took care of Buttercup's, too."

"I'm sure she doesn't mind." Professor winced after he said the mildly-inappropriate words.

"How bad is it? Will we be able to let people see them?"

Professor was silent at first. "I plan to have them cremated as well," he replied, thinking of Buttercup's service. "I...just don't want to chance someone stealing their bodies from a graveyard someday."

Bubbles smiled weakly. "Sounds like you're pretty scared, too."

"I am. Very much so. But I'll do what I can to get by. We all will."

"I still haven't seen either of them," Bubbles pointed out. "I'd like to at least once before it's too late."

Professor gently brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "We'll see, honey. I'm sure the doctors can make a special arrangement if you're not out of the hospital by then."

"Do you think you'll make more of us?" Bubbles asked. It was a fair question. After all, Ashley at least managed to brighten up the household for a few days.

It took Professor a long time to say, "I think it's far too soon to consider that."

"What do you think was really wrong with Ashley? I mean... I said some really mean things to Blossom about that."

"So did I. I was very upset that she'd done that without considering the rest of her family, but I can understand, and I did forgive her. But, honestly, I really can't say what happened to Ashley. I'm not even sure anyone is to blame for that."

Bubbles started to cry again. "Blossom didn't kill herself, too, did she?"

Professor was a bit taken aback by the question. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I... Because I was so mean to her the last time I saw her." Bubbles could say no more, and began to sob uncontrollably.

Professor gingerly hugged and tried to comfort her. When her sobs quieted a bit, he said, "No one wanted Blossom to die. Not even herself." This much he believed. "We've all been hurting a lot lately. I'm sure Blossom would understand that. I'm sure, at the end of the day, she'd look back and remember how much you loved her."

"Really?" Bubbles squeaked.

"Really really," Professor promised.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Professor called.

A head peered around the door. "Hello, I'm Mary Mae. I'm with the psychiatric department. May I come in?"


	4. Lonesome Walk

Chapter 4

[Lonesome Walk]

"Are you sure you're okay?" Professor asked Bubbles as the limo pulled to a stop.

"It's okay," Bubbles said, smiling. They'd re-dressed her bandages to be as inconspicuous as possible, which was not very. Much of it was covered by the wide-brimmed black hat and veil she wore. They matched her black dress, all of which Ms. Bellum had picked out for her. "I feel a lot better."

As expected, the hospital had made a special exception for a brief absence, though they expected her back after the services. Several more days of recovery had left Bubbles healing very well on the surface and leaving most of the pain behind her, but there were growing concerns about her eye.

Once again, a grand blue pavilion had been erected in the city park for the privileged to sit within, while others were forced to watch on the big screens outside, or from the comfort of their homes across the country, or even further beyond. During Buttercup's memorial service, the pavilion had promised shelter from possible rain. Today, it offered respite from the blazing sun. The day was very hot and fairly muggy.

The driver exited and came around to open their door. Professor stepped out first, then offered his hand to Bubbles. They walked towards the pavilion between two seas of people. They were greeted mostly by silence, save for one young man who tried to "Woo!" and clap and get the crowd to do the same.

When no one joined him, he seemed to realize his error and quiet down. Bubbles put her hand to her mouth and giggled. Professor smiled at that.

Once again, there were no caskets here. This was a memorial service, not a funeral. That, Professor insisted, would not be a spectacle.

This time there was very little speaking. Buttercup's ceremony had included all sorts of speakers and had dragged on for quite some time. This time, people had little more to say, and those that did speak were often brief.

Blossom's death was described as "another tragic accident."

No one explained much about Ashley's arrival, or spoke about her violent scene in public the other day. She was simply introduced as "a fresh ray of sunshine."

Ms. Bellum had cautioned Professor about being so secretive, but what could he say? That Ashley killed herself while no one was watching, mere hours after she murdered a man? That he'd found Blossom lying dead in almost the same spot mere hours later? That she'd become obsessed with the very thing that had led to Buttercup's death?

Blossom deserved better than to be remembered for those things. Bubbles deserved better than to have his competency as a parent be called into question. His family deserved space.

Still, he found himself again at the podium.

"Thank you all for coming here today," Professor began. His voice showed no emotion, but his emotional weariness was apparent. "I know that these tragedies bring sadness to many people in this world, but none so much as Bubbles and myself. At times like this, I'm obligated to step forward, as though I were some manager or representative. But I am not. I am their father.

"I don't need to point out Blossom's good traits or her service to the world. I am proud to say that she did a remarkable enough job that I need not remind anyone.

"The world may have lost a hero or, in some cases, a friend. However, I have lost another of my precious little girls. Bubbles has lost another dear sister.

"Ashley was not the first attempt the girls made at expanding our family behind my back," Professor said. He felt he had to explain at least this much, lest people question whether Ashley was his doing, or question his mental stability. As he said it aloud, however, he realized it might wrongly point blame to Bubbles. He had no choice but to deviate from his carefully prepared speech to clarify, but not before he sent a silent prayer of apology to Blossom.

"Blossom's grief and sense of loss was greater than Bubbles or I truly realized." He paused to take and hold in a deep breath here, steadying himself before emotion took over. "Her...tendency to act, to actively make the world a better place, led her to this course. While I scolded her—as I must, for doing such a thing without consulting with us—Ashley was a welcome addition to our family, and will be sorely missed."

Here he paused for several seconds before concluding with, "As Bubbles's father, I am going to do the selfish thing, because I believe it is the right thing for our family. While I expect I cannot stop Bubbles from doing what she feels is right, it is my decision that there will be no superheroics, indefinitely. Not until our family has had time to get back on our feet and recover, as much as we can recover, from these losses.

"Once again, thank you all for coming."

As the final scheduled speaker for the event, Professor returned to his seat with the hope that soon they'd be able to return home briefly, and then back to the hospital. However, Bubbles tugged on his sleeve and he leaned over to hear her whisper.

"Daddy, can I go up and talk, too?"

Professor opened his mouth but searched for his reply for several seconds before it came. Ms. Bellum was already at the podium, giving the closing comments and preparing to invite everyone to leave or mingle as they pleased. "I'm not sure, sweetie. It can be very hard, standing up there."

"But I really want to," Bubbles insisted. "There's so much I want to say."

Professor had to struggle to remind himself that Bubbles was his daughter and wanted to grieve for her sister. Being in the public spotlight complicated things sometimes, but clearly this was important to her. Perhaps he was afraid that her words would be broadcast the world over and scrutinized, or that she, in her youth and grief, would say something regrettable.

Afraid or not, however, in the end he decided he would not deny her this. His girls had constantly surprised him with their strength—and not mere physical strength. To deny her this would, more than anything, be the result of Professor forgetting those strengths in the face of their recent tragedies.

He smiled softly. "Okay, sweetie."

Bubbles nodded and smiled back through her veil. Her heart fluttered when she stood. Ms. Bellum saw her and faltered but continued speaking, albeit dragging things out a bit more slowly.

After several seconds, Bubbles worked up the nerve to approach the front.

As Bubbles approached, Ms. Bellum cupped her hand over the microphone and asked, "Yes?"

"Excuse me," Bubbles said with gentleness enough to melt the hearts of those seated close enough to hear. "Can I say some things?"

Ms. Bellum glanced at Professor, who nodded briefly. "Of course you can, Bubbles. Come right up."

Ms. Bellum stepped aside and took her lonely seat behind the podium, not bothering to excuse breaking off in the middle of her comments or feeling the need to introduce Bubbles (for her sake or the audience's).

"Hello," Bubbles said into the microphone. At first she said nothing more. A few people in the audience said a quiet "hello" in return. Some waved. After the silence dragged on for several seconds, a few people laughed softly, some of them wiping tears away as they did so.

Bubbles smiled and lifted her veil over the brim of her hat to show her face. Some people gasped or whispered. News of her injury was wide-spread, but it was still a shock for some to see the bandages.

"Thank you so much for being here. I know there are a lot of you who wish you could be here, too, but don't worry. I know you care, and it doesn't matter how far away you are. I'm really grateful for your support.

"I've...I've gotten a lot of support over the years. From you. From friends. From family." Bubbles shakily drew in a deep breath and sighed. "You almost lost me, too. I got hurt pretty bad, but if I were just a little slower, I might not be here today. I have to thank Blossom for helping me be more quick-thinking. And if not for Buttercup pushing me to be tougher, I might not have had the strength to push through the pain."

Her smile wavered visibly. "My sisters were wonderful, awesome people. I think I'm really a better person because of them. I really want to think that by following their example, even now that they're gone, that I'll keep getting stronger. I promise I'll do my best to save the world again someday.

"But right now I need time to get healthy and grow up a little. My life is going to be really, really different with all of them gone, and I don't know how long it'll take to get used to that."

Here her smile's valiant efforts to remain strong fell short. Tears started to well up in her eye as she continued, her voice growing ever hoarser. "Blossom's never going to give my any more advice. I'll never get another noogie from Buttercup. She'll never push me away when I try to hug her or call me a crybaby or try to show off. Blossom's never gonna tell me what to do or brush my hair or..." At this point, her words were incomprehensible, turning into whining as her throat became ever tighter.

Professor and Ms. Bellum were on their feet immediately, but the latter held still when Professor strode over to the podium. He knelt, though Bubbles was tall enough he hardly needed to, and hugged her. He whispered soft comfort into her ear.

When she had calmed just a little, he stood up and took her hand, leading them back to their seats. Halfway there, Bubbles tugged his hand a little to warn him before zipping back to the podium alone.

"Thank you all!" Bubbles said before running back to take Professor's hand again.

After they sat, Professor smiled and wrapped an arm around her.

"Good job, sweetie," he said.

Bubbles sniffled. "Thanks, dad."

Professor's smile faded when he saw a spot of blood appearing at the bottom of her right nostril. He pulled out a package of tissues from his pocket and handed her one.

"Thanks," she said, wiping her good eye before blowing and wiping her nose. A small red spot was barely visible on her eye bandage, now.

"You'd better pull down your veil, honey," Professor suggested.

Bubbles smiled and nodded, doing just that.


	5. Uncertain Sympathy

Chapter 5

[Uncertain Sympathy]

Ms. Bellum soon finished what was left of her closing words, and people in the pavilion started standing.

"Are you ready to go?" Professor asked.

"Wouldn't that be rude?" Bubbles asked.

"Well, I think they'd understand. We still have to go home so you can see Blossom and Ashley before we get back to the hospital."

Bubbles smiled beneath her veil. "I think we can spare a few minutes. These people want to say 'hi' and tell us how bad they feel. It makes them feel good, and that makes me happy."

Professor's face softened into a smile. "All right," he consented. "I suppose a few minutes won't hurt."

"Thank you, daddy. I'm going to walk around a little bit."

Professor smiled as she walked into the crowd, accepting well-wishes and offering gratitude as she went. He feared she was asking too much of herself, but Bubbles did have a different way of seeing the world. Seeing that, even now, she regarded it with the same gentleness and love was comforting.

Along the way, Bubbles ran into Princess Morbucks. She was dressed in black, but it was a sleek, sparkling dress more at home at a party than a somber event like this. One of her cheeks was slightly swollen. Perhaps from recent dental work.

"Hey," Princess greeted uncertainly.

"Hi," Bubbles greeted back, smiling. Bubbles pulled her veil up to get a better look at the familiar face. Princess winced. "I haven't seen you in a while. I'm kind of surprised to see you here."

"Is...is that okay?" Princess asked, expression asking approval.

Bubbles smiled. "Sure. I'm kind of glad, actually. So long as you're not planning on causing any trouble. I bet this must be kind of weird for you, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," Princess said, eyes downcast.

Bubbles put her hand on Princess's shoulder. She tensed, but did not pull away. Bubbles continued to talk as she started walking again, guiding Princess along. "You don't seem like yourself. Not that that's a completely bad thing, but is everything okay?"

"I don't know. I just..." She sighed. "I saw Blossom at Buttercup's thing. I was...insensitive. I'd never seen your sister that...angry. I went too far. I think."

"Do you want to go talk about it?" Bubbles offered. "I can fly us to the rooftops for some privacy."

Princess shuddered. "No, thanks."

"Well, in any case, don't worry about it. There's nothing you can do about that, now." Bubbles stopped in a quiet corner of the pavilion, turning to face Princess head on again. "I kind of said some really mean stuff not long before she died, too."

Princess smirked and said, "Well, she kind of asked for it sometimes, right?" When Bubbles just continued to smile softly, Princess shuffled awkwardly and added, "Sorry. Out of line."

Bubbles's expression softened a little and she replied, "I know what you mean."

Princess stiffened up when Bubbles stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her waist, burying her face on her bare shoulder. Princess continued to stand, arms resting at her side, as Bubbles sobbed quietly for the better part of a minute. Princess was grateful her back was to the rest of the people in the tent, allowing her to avoid their stares.

"I'm sorry," Bubbles said at length, pulling her head back but otherwise holding position. The patch of red on her bandage was clearly visible now. "I just had to do that for some reason. I guess it's hard, trying not to make dad worry too much."

"Sure," Princess said noncommittally.

"Maybe now that there's no team for you to join, we could be friends?"

Princess looked flustered again, and wished Bubbles would let go and put some space between them. "I... I really don't think that's a good idea. I mean...thank you. Really. But...I just don't think you need someone like me around. It'd be too awkward anyway."

Bubbles smiled. "That's okay. Here you probably had to work up the nerve just to come here, and I go all mushy on you." Bubbles hugged her briefly again and finally let go. "This really means a lot to me. Thank you. You're probably the only one we fought a lot that could come here without raising a big scene or something."

"Uh, thanks. I think. So, uh, is... Is your eye bleeding?"

Bubbles pressed her finger gently on the bandage and felt moisture. "Whoops. Guess so." She lowered her veil again, then spotted a small red smear on Princess's shoulder. "Oh, sorry," she said.

Princess craned her head to look, but could hardly see it. Bubbles licked her thumb then rubbed the spot, drying it by rubbing her palm over it. "It's gross, I know. They think it'll stop in another week or so."

"So do they know, yet? I mean... You know."

Bubbles shook her head. "Not yet. Everything else is doing okay, though, so if they can't tell yet I think that's a pretty bad sign."

Princess finally assumed a thoughtful, business-like expression. "I'll have my people look into it. I can get the best doctors in the world here by sundown, if I wanted. Maybe there's some old codger in retirement we can drag out. I... I hate this feeling I maybe, actually kind of did something wrong a little bit. Maybe I could never be your friend, but—"

"Nonsense," Bubbles insisted. "Right now, you're acting as good as one. You know, you might get along better with people if you didn't try to push them away or boss them around." She paused as a thought came to her and she giggled. "You're like the worst parts of Blossom and Buttercup combined."

Princess was spared having to come up with a reply, instead being startled by the Professor's voice behind her.

"Are you ready to go now, Bubbles?" he asked.

Bubbles looked over Princess's shoulder and smiled. "I think so." Turning to Princess, she said, "Thanks again. Take care, okay?"

Princess nodded halfheartedly, continuing to stare into the empty corner well after Bubbles and Professor departed.

* * *

"We'll be just a few minutes," Professor promised the limo driver as he and Bubbles walked to the front door of their home.

"I'll be downstairs when you're ready," Professor promised before slipping into his underground lab.

Bubbles raised her veil, nodded at his departure, and slowly wandered around the house. It was familiar, but with an unfamiliar sense of emptiness that made it feel foreign. She peeked into Blossom's room. It seemed mostly neat and tidy, as always. Her bed covers were a little ruffled, and for some reason one of her nightstands was on the wrong side of the bed, toppled onto the floor.

Bubbles backed up and floated upstairs, over the railing, and walked to Buttercup's room. This was not the first time she'd made this pilgrimage.

It was as her sister had left it months ago. With this new stream of grief, she wondered how long it would take before they finally cleaned up the mess of candy wrappers and dirty clothes her sister had left behind.

As Blossom had said, Buttercup's nightgown was gone, used in Ashley's creation. Its absence from the unmade bed mirrored the hole left by Ashley's sad departure.

In time, Bubbles slowly trekked down to the lab, preparing to say her final good-byes.

Professor knelt beside his newest contraption. In the end, he'd announced his decision to handle the cremation privately. He claimed to Ms. Bellum that there was too much public scrutiny, and he wanted to be certain this would be a private affair with as little fuss and bother as possible. Reluctantly, she'd agreed, and Professor slipped away from the hospital for bits and pieces of time to build this.

"It's nothing fancy," he said when Bubbles came walking down the stairs. "Just some rollers and a combustion chamber."

Indeed it was. Glass, or something like it, provided a view into an enclosed space, where flames were already visible on the bottom, fed by a gas line. Strangely, there was no visible venting to the outside. Blossom and Ashley were arrayed, in that order, on flat wooden slabs sitting on the rollers.

Professor had done little to compose the bodies other than clean them up and change their clothes. After the authorities had satisfied themselves, Professor had kept them here, using unknown means to preserve them rather than letting anyone else get involved.

Ashley's neck was wrapped by a thin green ribbon, tied in a neat little bow, hiding the cut in her throat. Blossom's head was covered by a pink bonnet, hiding the various cuts and gashes in her scalp. It did not hide the fact that she'd cut her hair off shortly before her death.

Of course, Bubbles could see right through those scraps of cloth if she chose to. For that reason, Professor had tried to prepare her without going into too much detail.

"What do you think happened?" Bubbles asked, standing by Blossom's side and gently caressing the bonnet. Ashley's mental disturbance was, perhaps, inexplicable. Blossom's was more troubling for the feeling that there was some rhyme or reason to it.

"I really don't know," Professor half-lied. He had his theory.

Apparently, a fairly obvious one. "Looks like she tried to cut open her own skull," Bubbles said softly with an odd coolness to her voice, mingled with curiosity. Between seeing Buttercup's injuries many weeks ago and being prepared for Blossom's, she wasn't so disturbed by mere physical wounds. "You...saw it, right? That thing?"

"Yes," Professor answered. He knew the object of which Bubbles spoke. A sleek, glossy piece of black metal that had lodged itself in Buttercup's head when she plowed through a starship, ultimately ending her life. Blossom had somehow managed to steal away a piece of it.

"I didn't know if I should say anything," she continued. "I was scared when I saw her holding that thing and talking to it. She didn't even know I was there. Not when I shouted. Not when I rolled her over. This... You don't think she wanted to put that thing inside her, do you?"

After several heavy moments of silence, Professor replied, "It's possible."

"What happened to it?"

"Shattered."

Bubbles frowned. "That's kind of sad." She leaned over and kissed Blossom gently on the forehead. "I guess nothing was going your way, huh?"

Bubbles wandered over to Ashley. Here she said nothing, instead smiling softly as she straightened up Ashley's clothes and brushed away a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

"Okay," Bubbles said. "I'm ready if you are."

"Are you sure you don't mind? Not having a little ceremony?"

Bubbles smiled. "It's okay. I think I like this better than stuffing them in boxes." Her face grew concerned, and she looked at Professor questioningly. "We're not...going to watch, are we? Through the window?"

Professor shook his head quickly. "No. They'll be lowered down."

Bubbles smiled in relief. "Good. Okay, then."

Professor smiled back. "Stand over there if you would, sweetie."

Bubbles nodded and walked out of the way, where she wouldn't be able to see the door the Professor opened up, or be forced to watch as he pushed Blossom along the rollers. He flipped a switch and Blossom slowly lowered out of view, into the flames below.

"I'll be back for Ashley tonight," Professor promised, standing beside Bubbles and putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Ashes to ashes..." Bubbles muttered, putting her hand on his and squeezing gently.


	6. Awaken

Chapter 6

[Awaken]

Bubbles sipped her tea, sending a slight buzz of energy into her tongue and down her throat. Her one-piece summer dress was airy and cool, though the matching blue purse's leather grew hot on the table before her. The sun beat down hard, but her wide-brimmed straw hat and a gentle breeze kept her comfortable.

Physically, at any rate.

"So they're not going to operate?" Princess asked, exasperated.

"Not yet," Bubbles said, brushing aside some of her hair, which she'd let let down to wear the hat more comfortably. "The cataract took them by surprise. It was just a dot in the morning and by evening, well..." Bubbles lifted a thin, flesh-colored adhesive patch to show Princess her right eye.

The gash had healed, leaving only a faint scar. She'd moved on from thick gauze bandages to small patches that were as much for appearance as anything. However, her eye had become so opaque that there was no trace of iris or pupil behind the white. An almost pure, featureless orb.

"This is an outrage," Princess screamed. Bubbles cringed a little at the shrill sound. Everyone else at the mansion seemed used to it. At least, those few milling about the back patio tending the plants seemed to ignore it. "Why didn't they do something? Couldn't they think well enough to prevent this?"

Princess pulled out a cell phone and started punching buttons. "That's it. I'm firing Jamerson or Jingleheimer or whatever his name is. I'll fly in another doctor before lunchtime."

Bubbles reached out and gently took Princess's wrist in her hand. Princess looked up, and Bubbles just smiled softly and shook her head.

"They're doing their best, really."

"I care about results, not effort," Princess said coolly.

"Then just be patient. Please?"

Princess stared back for several seconds before her scowl abated slightly. She heaved a frustrated sigh and pocketed her phone. "Why the heck are you so nice to everyone?"

Bubbles giggled. "Just in my nature, I guess."

"Then why did you want to come over, if not to complain about the doctors?"

Bubbles shrugged. "Just wanted to get out of the house. It's been just me, the Professor, and doctors for almost three weeks now. I get lonely."

"Oh," Princess said. No more words were forthcoming.

"Me and the girls stuck to ourselves a lot. We'd play with other kids, but I guess none of them are friends, really. It's just nice to get out and talk to someone that doesn't get all nervous about my eye or keep saying they're sorry about my sisters."

Princess looked around nervously and drank her tea.

"Am I bothering you?" Bubbles asked, taking another sip herself.

"No, it's not that. I just... Don't take this the wrong way, but I just don't care... Okay, I mean, maybe there's not a right way to take it, but that's just how it is. I don't care about other people. I network, I socialize, I negotiate. I don't do this 'friend' thing. I'm happy to help because it makes me feel good and it makes me look good. So don't get your hopes up is all I'm saying. I'm not your friend."

Bubbles smiled and set her tea down. "Well, you're less 'not my friend' than anyone else I know right now."

"Yeah, but... You don't actually like me or anything, right? I mean, this is strictly _pro tem_, right? You get on your feet, we shake hands, and it's over, right?"

"We'll see," Bubbles said wryly draining her teacup. "But you're probably right. That doesn't mean I don't still think you can be a nice person if you try, though."

"Ha," Princess said dryly, turning to stare at the hedge maze. "Nice doesn't get you anywhere in this world. What have you got to show for all your misery and suffering? Millions of people willing to cheer you on but too nervous to do anything. At the end of the day, what's a 'thank you' worth, really?"

She turned to find Bubbles smiling bemusedly, making Princess feel she'd said something foolish. She took another quick gulp of tea and set down her empty cup.

"Barkley!" she bellowed. A second later, a man ran up, tea kettle in hand. Princess raised her cup and he filled it. He then looked questioningly to Bubbles, who smiled, nodded, and held out her cup as well. She said "thank you" as he began to pour. When he finished, Princess flicked her wrist, and he departed just as quickly as he'd arrived.

After Bubbles took another sip of tea, she said, "It doesn't cost you anything to say 'thanks.' It's worth more to the person you say it to than you think."

"So anyway," Princess said abruptly, "how's the whole tear thing?"

Bubbles permitted the topic change. "I still cry more blood than tears on the right side. With all this stuff going on with the eye, though, they don't want to take my powers away long enough for surgery to fix that."

"Don't call it 'the eye,'" Princess insisted a little harshly, setting her cup on its saucer with a loud clink. For a moment, Bubbles feared the cup or its saucer (or perhaps the patio table) would shatter. "It's 'my eye,' not 'the eye.' Don't objectify it. It's important to stay attached and to...to think positive." Princess began to falter. She took another quick sip and added, "At least, that's what they say."

Bubbles smiled and set down her cup. "Then if its all about attachment, how about instead of calling you 'my friend' I just call you 'the friend?'"

Princess stopped to consider the idea. She smiled briefly behind her cup and answered, "Why not?"

"So, would the friend like to hang out again sometime?"

"Maybe she would, I guess."

"Good. Tell her I'll see her again soon, then."

"Wait, you're leaving?"

Bubbles smiled and stood, shouldering her small purse. "I have some errands to run. It really was nice to see you again, though." With a slight nod of her head, she added, "Thank you very much."

"But...but... I didn't do anything! You haven't even been here that long!"

Bubbles smiled more broadly, showing her teeth for a moment. "Sometimes it doesn't take much. I'll talk to you later, okay? Promise."

Princess nodded uncertainly.

* * *

Bubbles took flight, leaving the mansion behind in a flash of blue, holding her sun hat tightly on her head. She'd been out of the hospital for a week now, excluding frequent examinations, but spent most of that time at home. In all, she was feeling healthy, even a bit restless. Her pain was a thing of the past, and while the final state of her eye was uncertain, she was slowly adjusting to a life with only one good eye.

Offering to bring some groceries home helped her feel useful and gave her a reason to get out of the house. It felt so stuffy and empty, now.

Her first stop was a regional grocery store. She grabbed a basket and strolled straight to the produce section.

While she struggled to find some good tomatoes, a commotion was escalating behind her, at the entrance. It didn't take long for it to come to shouting and grab her attention.

"Insolence! How dare you refuse to service I, Mojo Jojo! No! This is unacceptable. That is to say, yours is the fourth such establishment this morning, and I am sick of it! I demand to see the manager!"

Bubbles froze, tomato in hand, back still turned. What was this strange tightness in her chest?

An employee shouted back. "After what you did to Bubbles, you shouldn't be surprised! This town's had enough of you! And for your information, I _am_ the manager, and if you don't—"

Bubbles cringed when she heard boxes and shelves crashing behind her, but still, she didn't move.

"Now it is I who am manager!" Mojo shouted angrily. "That is to say, I shall be calling the shots. You there. Old hag." While he paused, Bubbles heard a crinkle of paper being pulled and unfurled. "Go to the baking goods aisle and get me a jug of vegetable oil, some paprika, and three boxes of brownie mix. Not the cheap stuff. You! Young man! Get me one—no, _two_ dozen large eggs. Make sure there aren't any cracks in them. You! Hey there, in the blue dress. Turn around and face me when I'm talking to you!"

Bubbles had to remind herself to breathe. Maybe if she held still he'd go away.

"What, are you deaf?" Mojo bellowed as he stomped over to the produce section. The store had grown so quiet they could probably hear his footsteps on the other side of it. "I—"

Her phone rang out from her purse.

"Apparently not," Mojo said gruffly. Bubbles lowered her head, the brim of her hat hiding her face. Mojo roughly grabbed her purse, slung over her left shoulder, and she let him take it.

"What?" Mojo screamed into the phone. Apparently too loudly for the other party to understand.

"What? Bubbles?" No reply came. "Hello, Bubbles? This is the professor... I can't hear you... Hello?"

Bubbles saw Mojo's face appear as he tried to look up at her. She turned her head to her right, looking away.

Professor continued, oblivious. "Sweetie? I'm going to hang up and call you back, okay?"

"Hmm," Mojo hummed, snapping the phone shut.

A moment later, Bubbles felt her basket grow heavier when Mojo deposited her purse and phone in it.

In the silence that permeated the place, even the pressure pounding against her ears didn't stop Bubbles from hearing Mojo walk away. He strode without pause as the automatic doors opened for his departure, leaving a confused old lady and young man to loiter awkwardly with his groceries in hand.

When the doors closed again, Bubbles exhaled deeply as her abdomen tightened. She let the basket and tomato fall as she dropped to her hands and knees, breathing roughly, somehow exhausted.

Her phone rang again as a random man came by to ask if she was okay. She ignored him and reached blindly for her phone, keeping her face hidden beneath the hat.

"Hello?" Bubbles asked in a wavering voice.

"Hello? Bubbles? Is everything all right?" Professor asked, hearing the strain in her voice.

Bubbles could only sob. The man standing beside her knelt down and asked if he could do anything. He reached out to show her his hand, to make sure she saw his presence.

Bubbles ignored both of them, shutting up her phone in one hand and grabbing her purse with the other. The hand with the phone held her hat on her head as she ran outside.

She continued to run. Slowly she picked up speed as she turned several corners, until she went all out and shot back home.


	7. Midnight Corridors

Chapter 7

[Midnight Corridors]

"Daddy!" Bubbles cried as she ran inside. She found him in the kitchen, standing anxiously with a phone in his hand. He almost dropped it when she wrapped her arms around him.

"Bubbles! Honey, what happened?"

"Mojo robbed the store. I was so scared." Her voice became a soft whine as she spoke.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No." She shook her head for emphasis, then broke the hug to wipe her tears. She peeled off the sticky patch from her eye and set it on the counter. Professor handed her a paper towel for her to wipe the blood away. "He found out who I was and just left."

Professor smiled. "Atta girl. He still remembers well enough to keep his distance from you, eh?"

Bubbles looked at him and shook her head, frowning slightly. She'd calmed down a great deal. "That wasn't it. I didn't threaten him or anything. I was too scared to even turn around and look at him."

"Well," Professor started, pausing thoughtfully. "I'd have to guess he doesn't think he can get away with anything when you're around, off duty or not."

"He can't think I'm any threat to him anymore, can he?"

Professor put on his most knowing, comforting smile. "He left, didn't he?"

Bubbles lowered her head for a moment to think. "But... He wasn't scared. He didn't run."

"I bet if you chased him he would have."

She looked up at him suddenly. "He wasn't ready for me!" she realized. "He didn't have his robots, he didn't have anything set up for me, he couldn't take me by surprise..." Her eyes wandered for a moment before they found Professor's again. "Next time—"

"Next time, you just run right back home, okay?" Professor suggested.

"But what if he expects that and sets a trap? Or...maybe he knows I think he'd expect that. What if he—"

"Sweetie—honey—honestly, Mojo isn't all that bright. How few of his plans ever work out right?"

"He's still smarter than me!"

Professor shook his head and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't think like that. You girls all share a knack for this stuff. Just...use your instincts. If they tell you to run, run. If they tell you to fight, fight. Just because you're not on call or going on patrol doesn't mean you're forbidden from taking a stand, or that you don't have the strength to. You're one of the most powerful people on the planet."

Bubbles turned her gaze to the floor after giving a plaintive look and a small frown. "So were they."

Professor gently pulled her close and hugged her for several moments. Then he let go, dropped to his knee, and looked up at her. "You just need to have courage. I know it's in there," he said, gently pressing his finger on her heart. "I've seen it before. It hasn't gone away. You're still who you always were."

"I was always the scaredy-cat."

"Not so. And even if you were, didn't you say the other day you want to learn from your sisters' examples? Besides, don't you think they'd be happier if they didn't have to worry about not being here to protect you?"

Bubbles turned away. "I guess."

After several minutes of shared silence, Professor's knee was starting to hurt. "Is there anything else you want to say?" he asked as he stood.

"I guess not," she replied.

"Well, then, we'll worry about groceries and such nonsense another day. Is there anything you'd like to do today instead?"

Bubbles shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe visit Princess again."

Professor sighed softly, showing his disapproval in his expression, which Bubbles still wasn't watching. "I'd be very careful with that girl. She might not be being completely honest with you."

Bubbles turned to Professor again, her expression shifting to a look of disgusted anger. "So you tell me not to worry about Mojo, who nearly killed me, but you don't want me to have anything to do with Princess, the only kid my own age I can even talk to?"

Professor shook his head and quickly clarified, "I didn't mean it like that. In any case, I'm sure there are plenty of kids you could spend time with. I bet your friends must miss you."

"Not 'friends,' 'fans,'" Bubbles corrected. "They're practically strangers. They don't know me. They're nice people, but they're definitely not real friends."

"And Princess is a real friend? Or a nice person?" Professor asked neatly, eyebrow cocked.

Bubbles smiled briefly. "At least she knows me for me. At least she's honest. She doesn't even want me around, really. But she's trying to help. She feels bad about stuff she's done. People can change."

"They can change back, too," Professor cautioned.

"Dad," Bubbles moaned, exasperated. "I can't hide in my room and read books like Blossom or work in the basement like you. I've been too alone for too long. I just need to get outside and see someone, that's all."

"But why her?"

Bubbles relaxed and smiled. "Because she felt guilty. In her own way, maybe, but she did. I know it. Just like you probably know where water is on the periodic table."

"Water's a compound, not an element," Professor corrected absently.

"See what I mean? This is just something I understand. She's lonely, too. Maybe she just doesn't know it. This could be a good thing for her, if someone helps her take advantage of it."

"If it really means that much to you, I won't stop you from going. Just be sure _she_ doesn't take advantage of _you_."

Bubbles stepped forward and gave her father a brief hug. "I promise."

* * *

Princess lounged in the den, a room larger than the entire Utonium household. While much of the walls were adorned with hunting trophies, the hardwood floor was nearly bare. Only a small area with a throw rug and two chairs invited the presence of the living. A window nearly two stories high towered behind Princess's back, providing ample light as she read a newspaper.

Princess looked up as a rush of air fluttered that newspaper. Bubbles had returned, wearing her same blue dress, but without her hat, her purse, or her eye patch. Her hair still hung down, and after her sudden rush here she absentmindedly pushed it back behind her ears.

Princess cocked an eyebrow, but seemed otherwise unphased. Even the stark white eye was only mildly unnerving. "No one said you were back."

Bubbles attempted to smile, but her cheeks quivered as if it were some great strain. Slowly her face contorted, and soon she dropped to her knees, burying her face in Princess's lap and crying. After a few seconds, Bubbles thought well enough to put a hand over her right eye to contain the flow.

"Don't worry," Princess said when she noticed the gesture, sounding uncertain of her words. "I only wear stuff once or twice anyway."

Bubbles laughed, but did not raise her head or move her hand. Princess set her paper on the nearby end table and then wondered what to do with her hands without it. Slowly she lowered her right hand towards the back of Bubbles's head, pausing several times along the way.

Just before she made contact, Bubbles looked up, and Princess quickly set her arm on the armrest.

"I saw Mojo at the store," Bubbles said hoarsely, clasping her hands together and resting them on Princess's lap for support. She sniffled and continued. "I don't know why, but I felt so scared. I couldn't even move."

Princess craned her neck a little, pushing her head forward and regarding Bubbles with surprise. "What? You? Afraid? Of him? I've seen you fight before. You could take him all by yourself if you wanted."

Bubbles repeated her vain attempt at a smile. "I know. I have no good reason to be scared, but I was. I'm scared of why, too."

Confused, Princess took a shot in the dark. "What? 'Cause he hurt you?"

Bubbles shook her head—a small, plaintive expression. "Because he almost killed me. Because he's been trying to kill us all for years."

Princess sighed in frustration. Did Blossom and Buttercup have to put up with this? "Then go break into his place and rough him up or something. You've never been afraid to do that before, right?"

Bubbles shook her head rapidly. "No, it's different, somehow." She struggled to find words to express her feelings. "We're... I'm not helping someone. I'm not... I'm not saving the city. Not even my sisters. I'm just me. Bubbles. Just another person, just another girl, just another bystander."

"You lost me." Princess admitted.

Bubbles managed to smile now. "My sisters and I risked our lives sometimes. Almost never, but sometimes. And when we did, we did it together. As a team. For everyone. Now it's my life, by myself, for me. I feel so...small. So helpless. If I gave my life to save the world or protect my sisters, maybe I could do it. But I'm just scared of dying. Alone. Like Buttercup. Ashley. Blossom. They had nobody. Now..." Bubbles paused to successfully fight back a new wave of tears. "It could be me, next."

Princess's expression softened. Bubbles had never seen it so relaxed. She put her hands on top of Bubbles's and said, "I doubt that. Not for a long time. Buttercup died violently, sure, but that's how she lived. Now I don't know what happened to Ashley, but my people tell me suicide—and as good as for Blossom."

Bubbles blinked a few times as she listened, letting the realization that Princess pried behind her back sink in but not sure what to think of it.

"Where I'm sitting, you have more to fear about being afraid than you do about what you're afraid of. Don't let it overwhelm you. Don't let it push you over the edge and give up. You have to stay strong, or he wins." She smirked, returning again to carefully crafted outward expressions. "And I don't think either of us want to take second place to that monkey."

Bubbles smiled, soothed, slowly lowering her head and resting her cheek on top of Princess's hands. "I knew I could count on the friend."

Princess took on a slightly weary, defeated expression that Bubbles did not see. "The friend is glad to hear that."

Bubbles raised her head again. "Did you ever have any other friends?"

Princess cast her eyes down as she pondered. "I don't know. I've... No one's ever counted on me for anything other than a project or a paycheck before, if that's what you mean."

"Don't you ever feel lonely?"

"Not really," she admitted without missing a beat.

Bubbles giggled. "Don't you wish you had someone to talk to sometimes? Are there things that bother you, sometimes?"

Princess shrugged. "That's what therapists are for."

Now Bubbles smiled wearily. "Well, if you ever do want to talk, just let me know."

"I'll keep your offer in mind," Princess said, reverting fully to her business-like tone.

Bubbles stood up. "That's twice today you've perked me up."

Princess cocked an eyebrow. "And twice today you were feeling down. Are you always this fickle?"

Bubbles couldn't help but smile, despite the meanness of the words. "Only when I'm in the middle of robberies, facing off with an archenemy."

"So...yes?"

After the briefest pause, Bubbles began laughing loudly, and Princess was unable to stop herself from joining in.

After they caught their breath, they paused to dry their eyes.

Princess quickly reverted to her everyday self, though there was something lighter in her demeanor. "It's almost time for lunch. Unless you feel like darting off again..." Princess left the unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

Bubbles smiled and nodded. "That sounds nice."


	8. Servants of Fear

Chapter 8

[Servants of Fear]

Bubbles returned home smiling, immediately seeking out her dad in the lab. When she called for him, he emerged from a side room with a great metal door. She bothered him just long enough for a kiss on the cheek, an "I love you daddy," and minor conversational nothings before she went upstairs to her room.

Her time with Princess had been mundane and slightly awkward, but most welcomely so. Those were challenges Bubbles could face with confidence. Though she might not have been able to articulate it as such, those little triumphs were as healing and meaningful as anything else she could do right now.

Back in her room, she spent her time cleaning, dusting, and putting things away. Trying to put things behind her. Stray coloring books Ashley had worked on were stacked high on a closet shelf, so that some years from now she might have the heart to either throw them away or reminisce over them. Bubbles pulled the sheets off her bed, which hadn't been washed since Blossom slept with her to offer a comforting presence in the wake of Buttercup's death.

On her way back from the laundry room, she made a side stop in the living room to pick up her Konah Kids DVD. It was a children's movie that she and her sisters had watched when they were five. It hadn't aged well, and it was another memory of Ashley that she stowed away in her closet.

She took her time with these tasks, wanting to savor those little things before setting them aside.

Even so, she was quickly forced to move on, vacuuming the hallways, cleaning the living room and the kitchen. By now she'd grown accustomed to her casual pace, and before long it was nearing supper time. She surprised her dad by throwing together a hamburger casserole and calling him upstairs.

He ascended the stairs with a genuine, surprised smile. Behind it, however, she saw a familiar look in his eye. A sort of passion that would demand his focus and attention until it was satisfied.

She handed him his plate with a smile and cautioned, "Try not to stay up too late."

Professor smiled. "Thank you sweetie. Just know—"

"Yeah, yeah, 'if I need anything.' Got it. Now—shoo, shoo!"

"All right, I'm going, I'm going," Professor replied playfully as he made his way back downstairs.

Bubbles smiled at his back as he left. She ate in the kitchen in silence before putting away the leftovers. Only partway through the calm of the meal did she realize she'd spent all this time without hardly a thought running through her mind.

Finally bereft of chores and other distractions, the silence began to wear on her good cheer. The ticking of a wall clock proclaimed the lifelessness of the house. "No one home. No one home. No one home," its endless litany seemed to say.

She glided silently through the air, floating up the stairs to her room. A small, tight sensation in her stomach made it hard to stand when she touched down.

Her door brushed gently against carpet as she returned to her bedroom. Her breath was the only sound that greeted her.

She padded over to her dresser, pulling off her dress as she walked. It was too early for sleep, and the sky was still a ruddy orange hue, but she wasn't going anywhere. There was no one in the house she was going to interact with tonight. Nothing to draw her out.

For a moment she considered closing the curtains on her three ovular windows. Ultimately, she decided to leave them be and let the fading sunlight into her room, instead turning her back as she removed her training bra and slipped into her nightgown. If someone wanted to ogle her bare back they could just as easily watch her tan at the beach, after all.

The thought made her slump roughly onto her bed, where it took some effort to bother lifting her legs to remove her socks and shoes.

For the briefest moment the beach sounded like a great idea to pass the time, but would she really want to go there by herself? The idea seemed so lonely it made her sad just thinking of it. So many things she enjoyed, she realized, she enjoyed sharing with others. Even if only knowing they were there in the same room, each busy with their own activities.

Dressed down for the night, she lay on her bed, not knowing what to do with herself. As her mind wandered and the sky grew darker, the tightness in her stomach grew to the point of tingling.

Finally, she recognized the sensation, summoning a cold flush through her body as she realized this was the same fear she'd felt upon encountering Mojo earlier today.

A sense of panic began to grow. It made sense. Would Mojo wait for her to stumble across his path again? If he couldn't draw her out with crimes right now, why couldn't he just come to her?

Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for months. Still, was Mojo the type to wait patiently? To sit idly by, waiting for Bubbles to get out of her slump and her dad to let her back on duty? To expect she wouldn't just get fed up one day and step in ahead of schedule?

He knew where she slept. He knew she was as good as alone. He'd been able to sneak into their home before. If Bubbles was putting these pieces together, how long would it take Mojo to reach the same conclusions? For that matter, he might have gone well beyond that by this point. Maybe some of his plans were preposterous, but last time Bubbles faced him alone he didn't even need a plan to hospitalize and half-blind her.

The sky had grown dark. Scattered patches of stars shone through clouds. The mild air of the summer night chilled Bubbles through her silky nightgown as she soared through it.

Almost before she knew it, she hovered in the air over the park, staring at Mojo's observatory.

The tight, unpleasant sensation in her belly remained, but was now accompanied by something else. Something that made her pant without being tired. Something that made her lips pull slightly upwards in remembrance of past smiles. Even as her stomach closed in on itself, her chest swelled outward as her heart picked up a strong, steady rhythm.

Bubbles plunged through the roof as though it were paper mache, just as she had done so many times before.

Just not usually alone. Or with her hair down. Or in her nightgown. Usually.

Her bare feet crunched into the observatory floor. She'd never felt its texture this way. Every crack she made was known to her, and she scrunched up her toes to drag them across those cracks and take them in fully.

Her tongue appeared briefly as she licked her dry lips. She turned her head one way. Then the other. Then she stood straight up and looked behind her.

The observatory was dimly lit by occasional, scattered ceiling lights, dutifully serving as night lights while the rest were darkened for the night. As usual, the main lab area was spacious and clean.

Bubbles closed her eyes and focused her hearing. Before locating Mojo, however, she heard small mechanical sounds as sections of the floor and ceiling opened up.

She opened her eyes and tried to take in the location of all the turrets. This proved to be a little more difficult without any depth perception, but judging distances aside, she counted twelve of them.

Crouching low, smiling a soft, malevolent smile, she waited for them to open fire.

The projectiles hit empty air. The turrets were all spewing out what appeared to be bolts of white hot flame. Bubbles had seen such a projectile exactly once before, and briefly at that. But she'd certainly gotten a good enough look at it as it scorched her eye to recognize the danger these posed.

The turrets had good range of motion and excellent speed, almost universally keeping up with her pace. However, her erratic zig-zagging motions made it impossible for them to lead her and score a hit. If she so desired, she could probably keep this up all night.

She flew past a workbench/cabinet in one corner and, without, slowing, swung around and heaved it at one ceiling turret. Speeding towards one on the floor nearby, the world slowed to a crawl as she weaved around every bolt. Its steady rate of fire was predictable, and even when she drew too near to dodge she felt no fear, for her timing was impeccable.

The turret shattered as she plowed through it, while the one hit by the flying workbench was nearly completely dislodged and sent a shower of sparks to the floor as it failed.

Before it landed, Bubbles shot upward and kicked the increasingly-mangled workbench, sending it flying with uncanny accuracy at its next target.

Was this sensation that set her whole body tingling with excitement the same joy that Buttercup felt in the heat of battle?

Even as she passively mused, over the span of mere seconds, she similarly made short work of the remaining turrets. By the time Mojo arrived via elevator, Bubbles stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, waiting.

"Well, isn't this surprising," Mojo called out. He briefly removed one hand from a strange, ribbed rifle he was holding to flip a switch near the elevator. The main lights flared to life, illuminating the space as brightly as cloudless, sunny day, a stark contrast to the mixture of darkness and points of light through the windows.

"I hardly expected you to show up here again," he continued, aiming the rifle at her and slowly advancing. "Not so quickly, in any case."

He stopped walking when he'd closed half the distance. Bubbles continued to stare at him, wondering if he'd react at all to the sight of her milky white eye.

"What? No 'not so fast, Mojo Jojo' tonight?"

"Take your time," Bubbles replied calmly.

Her own voice sent an electric thrill through her spine. Was this how Blossom felt when she was in charge? Like she just somehow _knew_ the right things to say and do?

Mojo neither fired nor lowered his weapon. "Wonderful," he croaked, sounding genuinely excited. "Then I, too, shall savor this. You've become a very strong little girl to come here all alone in your nighties and tighty whities. Very strong, or...is this, too, a display of your fears?"

"I won't be afraid of you any more, Mojo. I refuse to be."

"Excellent," he said, in the same throaty expression of pleasure. "I see my defenses bought me time enough to dress and ascend."

"Not much else."

"Nor were they ever intended to. Had I the desire, I could easily fill this observatory with all manner of Antidote X dispensaries. You wouldn't so much be able to spit in the general direction of my observatory without suffering consequences."

"That so, huh? Why haven't you, then?"

"Because, my dear Bubbles, I am a hunter rather than the hunted. I need not hole myself up in my home and concern myself only with defense. That is to say, my aim is to demonstrate my genius on the field of battle, destroying my opponents on a level playing field."

"'Destroying?'" Bubbles asked, narrowing her eyes, pulling her lip up and curving it down in the deepest frown she could muster. "You mean 'killing.'"

"Not so. I mean as I say. To destroy. To annihilate. To achieve total, utter, and undeniable victory. Is that not what brings you here as well? Why are you here if not to savor the role of predator and make me your prey?"

"I don't know," Bubbles said. However, she said those uncertain words with such confidence, such venom—such a throaty, violence-promising tone that Mojo began to laugh. He lowered his weapon and turned his face to the ceiling as his mirth grew into a great belly laugh.

He bent forward and put a hand on his stomach as if to settle himself.

Then that hand slid downward to press a button on his belt.

Bubbles felt a strong downward force pull her to her hands and knees. She struggled to rise, to take flight, but it took all her energy just to work her way back onto her feet.

"Why always the center of the room?" Mojo asked, flashing a toothy grin. He pressed another button and his clothing began to glow a faint white color. He tossed the weapon aside and walked closer, cracking his knuckles. He seemed unphased by whatever he'd done to Bubbles.

Bubbles grunted and swung her hands upward, holding them defensively in front of her face, but just barely. They trembled even as her knees shook, straining against the incredible downward force.

"You girls are so _predictable_," he screamed, punctuating his last word by lashing out with a punch. It slipped past Bubbles's meager defenses and collided with her left cheek. A brief flash of light accompanied the impact, imparting an unexpected force that sent her hopping to the side on one foot. Her lack of balance, coupled with the strain of standing at all, toppled her to the floor again.

"So _simpleminded_," he said, this time kicking her from behind, in the kidney. Bubbles cried out briefly, uncertain whether the flash of light was real or imagined this time. But this pain was nothing compared to what she'd experienced before.

Bubbles rolled over and grabbed Mojo's shin, playing a hunch. She squeezed hard, and the resulting crunching sound proved her theory that her strength was intact. Which meant—

"So—graaaaaah!" Mojo cried as his bone shattered, kicking her in the stomach with his other leg before falling backwards into a sitting position.

Bubbles coughed several times before wheezing in a breath, but she offered Mojo a vindictive smile. Rather than using her powers of flight to help her stay up, she focused them downward into the floor. Soon it cracked and gave way under the strain, and she vanished from view.

"Ha!" Mojo cried. "I already thought of that! Gravity only gets stronger as—" His gloating was cut off by her supersonic scream and the sound of his equipment failing in the most dramatic fashion possible.

His face drooped in disappointment and worry. "Uh-oh."

Bubbles crashed up through a different spot of floor, her trajectory taking her straight at Mojo as debris scattered around them. They slid back a dozen feet, Mojo on his back, Bubbles adjusting to straddle him securely. When they came to a stop, she drew back her fist and rammed it into the side of Mojo's jaw.

Mojo responded with a deep, guttural roar that degenerated into a monkey's piecing, high-pitched screech. Her attack had visibly dislocated his jaw (or worse). He attempted no words of contempt, though his expression communicated his intent clearly enough.

While Bubbles pulled her hand back again, Mojo kicked his good foot almost straight up, striking her mid-back with another burst of light and pivoting her forward towards his face.

He grabbed her hips and used the momentum to flip her over his head. He then pounded his arms into the floor and flipped backwards on top of her, reversing their positions with wild, simian agility.

Roaring, Mojo lashed out, pummeling her face from one side to another in a flurry of motion and strobing light.

Bubbles loosed a cry of her own and thrust her hands up, wrapping her fingers around his neck.

Despite Bubbles becoming bigger than Mojo as she'd aged, Mojo's arms, appropriately sized for a monkey but disproportionately long in human terms, had reach enough to continue their barrage even when Bubbles held him at arms length.

However, soon his arms grew weak and his lungs began to burn. Bubbles's bruised, swelling face was fixed in silent fury as Mojo began to claw futilely at her arms. He was able to offer little resistance as Bubbles sat upright, not loosening her grasp in the slightest. Pushing him onto his back, she once more took the high ground.

Mojo's mouth made wet sounds as it struggled for air. He kicked out weakly, but Bubbles straddled a lower point on his body this time, and his foot failed to connect with anything.

He continued to try to push her arms away or pry at her fingers, but neither budged. He rolled his eyes and blinked a few times as he fought off unconsciousness's first assault.

Again Bubbles took note of the feel of the situation, exposed to her in ways which, to her memory, she'd never before experienced. Her fingers felt the wiry, coarse fur beneath them. Her bare legs and thighs felt him brush against her as he continued struggling. Now his feet were sliding against the ground as he tried and failed to push himself out from under her.

Bubbles's expression of rage had slowly softened to one of sadness, and it became hard to see through the welling tears waiting to fall, but her grip did not soften.

Mojo's eyes began to take on a distant look as his movements were reduced to a dreamlike slow motion. He stretched his hand towards her face, turning it and pulling his fingers inward as it rose, almost into a fist. There was no strength in it. His forefinger gently brushed her cheek, and then it was spent. His legs fell flat. His head lolled to the side as his eyes half closed. His arm dropped limply to the side, a small smear of red on the finger that had manged to wipe away a single bloody tear before his strength gave out.

Bubbles did not loosen her grasp. Instead, she began to sob, shaking her body. Soon she cried audibly, loosing a sound of grief that one might expect to hear at a funeral.

In curiosity, she'd once asked Blossom why someone couldn't just hold their breath to commit suicide, and Blossom had responded that unconsciousness came well before death.

One could only guess how long her mourning continued before the tears were spent and she dared to listen for a heartbeat, praying it was over.


	9. Tears of Angels

Chapter 9

[Tears of Angels]

Bubbles slowly came to her feet, staring at Mojo's motionless body. Time passed unheeded, without even thought to give sensation of its forward flow. For a time, the world was frozen.

When it started moving again, it did so in pieces. Though she'd ceased to shed any more tears, one last pool in the corner of her eye finally trailed down her cheek. Its tickling caress carried her back down to reality.

The hum of lights and sundry equipment rang in her ears, just a few notches above the chirping of crickets outside. A cool draft gently stirred her nightgown.

Her eye drifted upward, her head following, settling on the hole in the roof. If people hadn't already noticed the light spilling out from it, by tomorrow morning the whole city would see the damage.

Once more she looked at Mojo. For a brief moment she considered hiding or otherwise disposing of his body. Brief, because she quickly admitted she didn't want to touch him again.

One alternative was clear, but it took another pause to muster up the strength to start moving again. It took only a brief scan with the penetrating vision of her good eye to locate the supply room she was after.

The roof had seen many patch jobs over the years. Tonight's was little different, save that it was one of the few times Mojo wasn't saddled with the task. She moved as quickly as she could without leaving a revealing trail of blue light, applying the finishing touches from outside.

Only allowing a brief pause to observe the results, and no time to consider her actions this night, Bubbles took to the skies.

She did not immediately return home. Instead, she floated above the clouds, barely illuminated by the half moon that shone tonight.

Bubbles stared at the moon as she drifted in tandem with one of the clouds, floating on it as if pretending it were able to hold her weight. The moonlight gave the clouds the silvery hue of dreamstuff as it gave her face and clothes the pallor of a lost memory.

It was calm up here. Peaceful. If she let her ears relax, chose not to hear the distant sounds of the world, there was only a quiet breeze.

Still her mind had not fully engaged. She drifted aimlessly, taking in the scene, the sensations, fully experiencing every moment as it passed. However, her mind had yet to ponder her actions.

When something tickled her nose, she flared her nostrils. Her face felt a little stiff, particularly the right side with its twin trails of crusty, dried blood that ran down from her eye and her nostril, over her lips, and to the butt of her chin. The cloud covered parts of her in fine dew, but for the most part her face had only been exposed to the cold, dry air above.

She ran her right hand over that side of her face, rubbing the crust away and cringing at the slight pain the pressure caused her bruised face. There remained thin smears of dried blood that only a wash would easily remove.

Her fingertips briefly appeared in her left eye's vision. Continuing to stare straight up, she fanned out her fingers and let her hand drift over her blind eye, until they were gone. Slowly moving her hand back in the other direction, again her fingertips came into the view of her left eye.

She pulled her hand away from her face to regard it properly. A moment ago, it was as if that hand were in some secret world, some part of her existence she was peripherally aware of yet not cognizant of. A black void with its own secret workings.

Slowly she lowered her hand as she pivoted upright. Exhaustion was making her eyes painfully dry, and the high altitude certainly offered no relief.

Uncaring, the cloud passed by as she stilled herself to get her bearings. She was just outside of the city, but even in the dark she knew where to go.

Nightgown fluttering, like a ghost she flitted through her open window. After shutting it, this time she did close the curtains. The darkness prompted her to turn on a small lamp, allowing herself to regard her reflection in a tall mirror mounted to the wall by her door.

Somehow, it was her eye that startled her most. She'd seen it in her reflection before, but it was still a new and scary presence in her life. The traces of blood on her face did not concern her, nor did the small scrapes and tears of her nightgown. Those were easily washed away. Easily discarded.

What did concern her was the swelling in her face. Some bruises were already visible, while others were likely saving their energy for a dramatic appearance by morning.

She pulled her nightgown over her head, its dampness clinging to her and offering slight resistance to its removal. The kick to her stomach would bruise as well, and already had a slightly yellow ring. As she brushed her hand over the tender area, she noticed that the bruise stretched from her wrist to her fingertips.

Frowning slightly as she remembered the kidney blow, she turned to the side and craned her neck. Quickly she sighed and shook her head, turning around the other way instead, so her good eye could look into the mirror.

Even then, it still wasn't the best viewing angle, but the cautious probing of her fingers suggested that area fared no better.

Turning to face the mirror straight on, she gave her reflection an apologetic look, pushed her lip up in a mild frown, and looked away. After a moment a small sigh seeped out. With a parting look at herself, she walked to her dresser to pull out a fresh nightgown.

Poking her head into the hallway, she glanced down the hall at the empty bathroom before gliding gently towards it, clutching the fresh gown over her chest. Inside, she turned on the light and closed the door, regarding herself more carefully in the brighter light.

The tear blood washed away quickly, but the swelling was still obvious. From personal experience, she expected it would hardly be noticeable a day from now. The bruises on her body she could hide during that time, but the damage to her face she couldn't.

After drying off and donning the gown, she kept the small towel in hand as she floated downstairs to the kitchen. There she pulled out a plastic sandwich bag and filled it with ice, wrapping it in the towel and pressing it against her face. The coolness began to come through, feeling pleasant enough for now.

Soon she was back in her room turning off her lamp. In the near-darkness she padded softly to her door and locked it. It would be...difficult if Professor decided to poke his head in while she slept. While his respect for the girls' privacy and personal space had only increased over the years, now was not the time to rely solely on that.

Somehow, despite all its precautions and machinations, her mind had still not shifted back into gear. While her more primal instincts had guided her safely home and to carefully cover her tracks, in many ways Bubbles herself was still standing on that laboratory floor, staring into the distance. Even now, with nothing left for her autopilot to do, she was fortunate enough to slip into slumber before that changed.

* * *

A firm knock on her door woke her. Her eyes blinked several times as they were pulled from an apparently dreamless slumber, lolling about until they spotted her alarm clock. It was almost ten o'clock, and sunlight was peeking through the edges of the curtains.

"Bubbles? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Bubbles called sleepily.

She heard her doorknob click as Professor tried to turn it back and forth.

"What is it?" she asked, not needing to feign her grumpy tone.

"I'm going to the store," he replied, unoffended. "Did you want me to pick up anything?"

"That's okay," Bubbles responded in a loud moan.

"What's that?" Professor asked.

"No, thank you," she replied again, louder and more clearly, some of her usual pleasant tone finally coming through.

"All right. I'll be back in a bit," he promised.

"'Kay," she said, rubbing her eyes and prying the sleepies out.

A few moments after she heard his footsteps descend the stairs, she finally remembered why she was so sleepy this late into the morning.

Out of reflex she glanced at the time again, though it held no answer to the question of when she'd returned home last night.

Kicking off her sheets, she rolled out of bed and strode over to the mirror. The swelling had gone down a little, but the bruising was obvious now. The bag of water and damp towel were perched on the corner of her bed, largely wasted.

Her mind ran through her schedule. There were no hospital visits planned for today. No outside obligations. Just herself and her father.

Fortunately, he'd seemed busy in the lab yesterday. Maybe she could get by unnoticed today as well.

Bubbles's eyes widened as she jerked her head up to stare into them. What had happened just now? She'd taken a life last night. Willingly. Brutally. Now all she could think was how to cover her trail?

Her mouth hung slightly open as she lowered her gaze to ponder this.

No matter how hard she tried to look for it, there was no feeling of guilt. No sinking feeling in her stomach. No chill flush. No fear.

Again she looked into the reflection of her good eye. Seeing no answer there, she turned to her other eye. It was guarded. Secretive. She saw nothing beyond the white. Nothing beyond the pale.

Bidden by some deep impulse, she turned to the right to see her discarded nightgown. She'd have to dispose of that sometime as well.

Swallowing hard, she peered though the walls of the house with her good eye in search of Professor. As she watched, he strolled into the garage and climbed into his car. She continued to watch until he was well down the road.

Bubbles snatched up her nightgown and makeshift icepack and stepped out. Emptying the bag down the drain, she filled it with another handful of ice and wrapped it in the towel again. The nightgown she was less certain of. Burning would be best, but she wasn't certain she could do it herself.

She'd been able to practice using her penetrating vision with only one eye, but due to the obvious dangers she hadn't tried to learn the same trick with her heat vision. Now—especially with the new, blinding cataract the doctors strove to study—was not the time to risk that.

Setting her icepack in the freezer for now, her first stop was the garage in search of a can of gasoline. The first thing to catch her eyes, however, was a small pile in the corner. A partially used bag of garden soil. A grocery bag with bottles of spice. An open, nearly full bag of sugar. Most strikingly, a tall cooking pot that had been split open along one side by a powerful explosion.

Blossom's doing, she realized. These must have been materials she used in creating Ashley.

Bubbles had accused Blossom of putting death in Ashley by including Buttercup's ashes in the mix. Ashley had chased down a petty criminal, jabbing a piece of rebar into the back of his head as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When confronted, she seemed completely at a loss as to what wrong she might have done. She, too, had felt no guilt.

Yet, for whatever reason, she took her own life shortly after. Just as Blossom had taken hers.

Perhaps death had always been in them?

What did death mean to her, really?

Buttercup's death had, to Bubbles, been an unwanted goodbye, a stark reminder of her own mortality, and the first inkling of all that she had to lose. No one would ever see or speak to Buttercup again. She would never again make a mark on the world. However, good things had come from that loss as well. Not nearly enough to make up for the bad, perhaps, but something.

Ashley's death was a shock. Her life had been a brief glimmer of hope, driving home the ethereal, fleeting nature of life itself. Her suicide raised questions of the meaning and value of life. Questions Bubbles had neither cared about nor made time to answer before.

Blossom's passing frightened her. As Buttercup's physical, hands-on approach had been her undoing, so had Blossom's mental, ponderous approach to life been hers. Some notion had settled in her mind that led her to inadvertently doom herself. While less deliberate, her actions echoed Ashley's lesson that death need not come from without.

Had Bubbles broken the cycle? If she had to choose, her defining trait was caring for other people. Certainly that could spell her end. By this point in her life, she recognized her gullibility. Her desire to believe the best of others and give them the benefit of a doubt. To give people a second chance.

And a third. And a forth. And so on.

Whatever the limit was, apparently Mojo had reached it.

Mojo's death... What was that? Was it a sad thing? Perhaps. Certainly, it had been a hard thing to do. She couldn't exactly call it a happy thing, but wasn't that exactly what it was? He couldn't even go grocery shopping without terrorizing others. What good had he ever done the world?

Maybe there was no reason to grieve or feel guilt. What, truly, was the end result? Mojo, too, would never speak to anyone or do anything. He would never have an impact on the world, positive or negative. Last night had been a final good-bye, and now he was gone from this life. From her life.

Slowly returning from her reverie, Bubbles turned her gaze to the gas can. She carried this to the kitchen, where she pulled a box of matches from a cupboard. With these in hand, she opened the door and flew off in a flash to a faraway hilltop.

Tossing aside the damaged nightgown, she poured some gasoline on it and lit a match. She held it close until the gown caught. Waiting just long enough to ensure the flames had their hold, she zipped back home just as quickly, putting her tools away and retrieving the icepack before gliding back to her bedroom.


	10. Lunarium

Chapter 10

[Lunarium]

As Bubbles lay on her bed, wondering if the ice pack would really help or not, she pondered a means of excusing her presence when Professor returned home. Would he mind if she left a note and slipped outside to some lonely spot for an hour or two?

Not until she considered the content of the proposed note did she realize that the only place she could really go was Princess's. Bubbles didn't want anyone to see the bruises, or to risk getting caught in a lie if Professor spoke to someone she was supposedly visiting. Further, given her recent complaints about needing to see people, going off to be alone instead would just seem odd.

Her solution turned out to be an appealing one. She grabbed her bathrobe and sauntered off to the bathroom. Hanging the robe on the door behind her, she set the ice pack on the tub edge and drew a bath of pure hot water. After the tub had begun to fill, she opened a nearby bottle and made a bubble bath of it.

While she waited for the water to rise, she disrobed and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. With the aid of a hand mirror she was able to better observe the bruise on her back.

She winced a bit at the sight and felt compelled to rub the sore area. The thought that she'd endured worse consoled her somewhat, but greater consolation still was the promise of a warm bath.

The steaming water stole her breath and tightened her stomach pleasantly as she put her first foot in. When the second touched down, she inhaled sharply, then smiled. Just because her body could endure lava didn't mean she couldn't appreciate the sensation.

Her smile deepened as she lowered herself, closing her eyes and moaning almost inaudibly as the stark contrast of tickling bubbles and scalding water caressed her.

After a moment to appreciate the warmth, she grabbed the nearby icepack and draped it over her face. The mismatched temperatures made her head spin for a moment, but the soothing water didn't permit that to last long.

Eyes forced closed by the towel-wrapped bag of ice sitting on her face, it did not take long for her mind to wander. Wander, perhaps, but not back into the world of sleep. While Professor had awoken her a little prematurely, it seemed she'd slept enough last night that there was little risk of drifting off. Even so, her thoughts drifted along as if sleep were not far away, flitting from one random idea to the next, each forgotten as quickly as it came.

A door opened downstairs. Bubbles perked up her ears to hear the sound of keys and grocery bags, whereupon she resumed relaxing.

A few minutes later, she heard Professor calling up the stairs.

"Bubbles, I'm home!"

"I'm in the tub!" Bubbles shouted back.

"That's fine. Are you hungry?"

"Already ate, dad," she lied.

"Okay. I'll be downstairs if you need anything," he finished, leaving her in peace.

By now she'd been in the tub long enough for most of the heat to drain away, leaving the water lukewarm at best and the bubbles little more than scattered froth on the surface. The ice pack had mostly melted, so she set it aside and stared at the ceiling. She half-listened as Professor put away groceries, waiting for him to move on.

As footsteps plodded down to the lab, Bubbles sat upright and unplugged the tub. After the water had drained until what was left offered no comfort, she stood up and turned on the shower.

Later, properly cleaned and dried, she donned her robe and slipped back to her bedroom. Although she hoped to go nowhere today, she dressed and put her hair in pigtails out of habit.

It wasn't even noon yet and the day was quickly becoming tedious. The knowledge that she couldn't go anywhere or see anyone only made her feeling of isolation more poignant. Lying again on her bed, her stomach fluttered with energy while her legs fidgeted. She felt as if she could scream.

When she could take no more, she snatched up the phone and dialed.

"Yeah, what is it?" Princess's voice rang out before Bubbles even spoke. Despite the tone of annoyance, the sound made Bubbles sigh a little, like she'd just been holding her breath.

"It's Bubbles," she replied sweetly. "Do you want to talk for a minute?"

A pause. "Sure. Are you coming over now?"

Bubbles half-winced. "I actually just wanted to talk on the phone a while."

"Why? You could be here before I finish this sentence." Princess paused again, perhaps looking for Bubbles to do just that. "Don't tell me you're afraid to go outside or something stupid like that."

"No, it's not that," Bubbles said. "I'm just kind of lounging around today."

"Okay, whatever." Bubbles heard a door close as Princess spoke. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?"

"I already said I've got people to talk to." A beat. "What I don't have is anyone to talk to me." Another pause. "Not that I couldn't, I guess. I just don't care."

Bubbles closed her eyes and smiled. "That's sweet. Maybe. So you still think your therapists are enough?"

"What, you trying to reform me, too?" Pause. "You're not...right?"

"Nope. That's something you gotta do yourself."

"Good, because I don't think I could put up with that. Even from you."

Now Bubbles hesitated. "I am curious, though... What made you want to be a supervillain?"

"I never really saw myself that way," Princess admitted quickly enough. "Frankly, it's a matter of perspective. I'll admit I'm a bit...self-focused, but that's to be expected. People are built to want things. To need things. Because of all the stuff I get, I have to want bigger things, you know?"

"I guess," Bubbles said blankly, sensing from Princess's cadence she just wanted a quick acknowledgment that Bubbles was listening.

"It's never a supervillain that I wanted to be, anyway. It was a hero. To be a PowerPuff Girl like you. You girls were so...awesome. The things you could do. The way people looked at you. I _wanted_ that."

After a reasonable silence, Bubbles asked, "And now?"

"'Now' what? Do I still want it? Maybe. Maybe not. Have I changed? No."

"So when did things start to...go wrong?"

"Depends on what you mean. I'm sure you remember I started butting in right away. If you mean when I started hating you all, that didn't take long either. If I couldn't be a part of it, then I wanted it gone. I studied your enemies and ended up falling right in with them. You could probably guess there was a lot of Mojo in it. He was always getting in your way, and of course, he had all the neat toys.

"It must have rubbed off on me too much. I mean, he was all 'destroy, destroy, destroy.'" Bubbles winced. "I can't believe I actually ever said that _I_ wanted to 'destroy' you girls. I mean...that's just kind of creepy if you stop to think about it. Like you were just some stray dogs or something."

"Yeah," Bubbles said softly in a shaky voice.

"Hmm?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"It's not like you were dolls or animals or something. If I told my daddy 'I want to murder the PowerPuff Girls' he'd have hauled me off to an institute or school somewhere to get straightened up. As it is, I assume he figured we were playmates or something. Who knows."

"Do you think you could ever do it?" Bubbles asked distantly, only half aware of the question.

"I...used to think I couldn't even if I tried my hardest. You...you were unstoppable. I just... I really don't know what I'd have done if I ever... After Buttercup and Blossom, I just don't know anymore. It kind of scares me sometimes, you know?

"It's, like, I just wanted to push you girls. Make you angry. At least I could force you to acknowledge me and make you see me as an equal. But I never saw myself as a bad person, really. Then again, I guess most people don't ever see themselves like that."

"Some do!" Bubbles said earnestly, sitting upright as she continued speaking. "Mojo would brag about being evil. The Amoeba Boys wanted to be bad. We all know about Him."

"Wow, what's got you so worked up?"

"I...I might have done something really bad," Bubbles said without thinking.

A brief pause. "Is it too late to do anything about it?"

"Yeah," Bubbles said shakily.

"Then take the advice you gave me and don't worry about it."

"But—"

"But nothing. What? So are you worried you're a bad person now or something?"

"Yes," Bubbles said, squeaky voice on the verge of tears.

"Oh, right, like that'd ever happen. You stick your neck out for other people so much you make Mother Teresa look like a thieving con artist. I bet you couldn't even spit in someone's face without making the world a better place somehow.

"What's the measure of good and bad worth, anyway? Good for me? Good for you? Good for the world? How about good for good people? You'll just keep going in circles. So answer me this: assuming _everyone_ knew, is anyone other than you even going to shed one measly tear over this?"

Bubbles hesitated, scrunching her brow in thought. After several seconds breathing steadily, she answered plainly, "No."

"I figured. Then what's got you worked up? If no one else even cares, why should you?"

"I dunno. I guess... I'm just maybe not the person I thought I was."

"Ha. See, here's where the therapists earn their keep. Ever heard of cognition distance? Er, cognetted dissonance? Or whatever they call it. Anyway, when reality doesn't match your image of yourself, it's all frustrating, you know? At the end of the day, you've either gotta change what you do or admit what you are."

"What if you can't, though? What if I can't change anything, and I don't want to be..." Bubbles trailed off.

"Well, I guess you could always change how you look at the world. Maybe something you thought was bad really isn't. I mean, you already said no one but you is even going to raise a fuss. You seem to like making the world a better place. Sounds like you already admitted it couldn't have made the world a worse place—so could it have actually made the world a _better_ place?"

"Well...I guess so, but—"

"Then it's settled. You're crazy. You made the world a better place and you're blabbering to a 'villain' about it making you a bad person. Are you sure _you_ don't want to see some of my therapists?"

Bubbles giggled.

On the other side of the line, Princess briefly wore a relieved, self-satisfied smile before showing concern. "So, uh... What did you do, anyway?"

"Mmm... Maybe some other time. I think you...er...'the friend' was a big help already."

Softly, Princess speculated, "I guess you used to go to them with all this stuff, huh?"

"Yeah," Bubbles said wistfully, remembering time spent with her sisters for the first time in days. "I don't think they'd have let me get away with it so easily, though. Or at all."

"Well, welcome to freedom, honey. It's a big, scary place."

"Yeah, really."

"So, if not today, should I plan to see you tomorrow?"

"Maybe. I've got another big appointment at the hospital. I'll let you know how it goes."

"That's nice of you, but I'll probably know before you do. Money travels faster than the speed of sound. I don't want a repeat of last time."

Bubbles smiled, closed her eyes, and shook her head. "You're not big on privacy, huh?"

"This from the girl who flies over people's heads in a dress."

Bubbles giggled again. "You've got a dirty mind."

"So do they."

After a pause, Bubbles dropped the subject and cooed a soft, "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll catch you later, then?"

"Yeah. Definitely."


	11. Happy Little Monster

Chapter 11

[Happy Little Monster]

Bubbles had risked going downstairs to watch television to alleviate her boredom. Fortunately, not only did Professor not discover her, it gave her opportunity to eat a very late breakfast. Many hours of cartoons later, she helped herself to an early dinner as well before retreating to her room.

Once again, Professor seemed unconcerned about not seeing her at supper time. If he was involved enough with his latest project, he could conceivably go for a week without seeing Bubbles's face and not realize it.

Unfortunately, she didn't have a week; they had to be at the hospital by ten tomorrow morning. The swelling had gone completely down, so Bubbles had given up on ice packs. All that remained was to give her body time to heal the bruising and hope the doctors didn't notice anything. Maybe she'd give make-up a try.

As the sky again turned a ruddy orange color, Bubbles once more found herself in bed clothes and staring at her reflection. Her mind was emptied of all thought as she stared at the dead white orb that had once been a part of her. It seemed still and lifeless, though only because its pure color made its movement almost impossible to discern. If eyes were the window to the soul, then what lay in hiding behind this one?

The sky was dark when she retreated to her bed.

* * *

After a dreamless sleep that felt all-too-short, Bubbles was startled to wakefulness by a knock at her door.

"Come in," she called reflexively.

As the door latch clinked, her eyes shot open, suddenly wide awake. She loosed a small gasp and pulled her covers over her head.

"Morning," Professor called pleasantly. Using her powers, Bubbles peered through her bed covers at him. If he'd seen her face before she covered it, there was no sign of any reaction. "It's almost eight. I made breakfast today." Seemingly on cue, the smell of bacon drifted into her room. "You should eat and get cleaned up for your appointment today."

"Thank you, daddy," Bubbles replied. She stretched her arms outward, beyond the bedspread, working out the stiffness before letting them plop down, keeping her head covered. "I'll be down in a minute," she promised.

"Sounds good," Professor replied, retreating and closing the door behind him.

Bubbles yanked her covers down and hopped out of bed to her mirror. She sighed in relief, seeing no visible sign of injury. Gently she pressed on her face, finding it a little sore in some places. Glancing to make sure her curtains were closed, she locked her door and undressed. She was still unable to get a good look at the bruise on her back, but it no longer felt tender, and her stomach bruise had vanished in the night as well.

Pausing to smile at her reflection, she threw on some clothes and put her hair up once again. She practically bounced down the stairs, her trek to the table halting only briefly to kiss Professor on the cheek.

"Good morning," he responded without looking, busy scrambling eggs in a frying pan.

"Morning, dad," Bubbles said in turn. "Did you get to bed early for a change?"

Professor just shrugged.

Bubbles smirked at his back. "You were up all night, weren't you?"

Again he shrugged.

"Dad," Bubbles moaned in a long, drawn out way. "You know that's not good for you. Men of your age shouldn't be staying up all night."

Professor was smiling broadly when he turned his head to face her. "Isn't that—" he hesitated, his smile becoming forced. "Blossom's line?" he finished, turning back to his cooking.

Bubbles stared at the table, smiling distantly until her plate arrived. They ate in silence until Professor collected the empty dishes.

"Anything we should get while we're out?" Professor asked, though he'd just been shopping yesterday. Bubbles wondered if he was looking for excuses to get out of the house. Knowing how wrapped up he'd been with lab work lately, she wasn't sure whether it was for her sake or his.

"Nuh-uh," she replied.

"Okay," he said. "Well, do you want to fly us in or should we take the car?"

"Mmmm," Bubbles pondered. "Car," she said at length.

"Car it is. Want me to get you when it's time?"

"Sure," she said. A thought occurred, and she added, "Unless you want to go now."

"We'll be well over an hour early," he said.

"I can always visit the little kids while we're waiting," Bubbles pointed out. "I think they'd like that."

"Well, you might want to put on your patch first."

"Oh! Right," Bubbles exclaimed, hopping up from the table. "I completely forgot."

"Remember, honey, it's to keep light and dust away as much as to be polite."

"I know, I know," Bubbles called as she jogged upstairs.

"Did you put it on yesterday?" Professor called up to her from the kitchen.

Bubbles sighed in growing, uncharacteristic frustration. The early signs of teenage scorn of parents, perhaps. "No," she admitted as she applied a fresh adhesive patch.

"Do you need me to start reminding you?" he asked.

"No, dad," Bubbles shot back as she thundered back downstairs. "So, ready to go?" she asked, reverting to her usual, bright demeanor.

Professor, in the middle of drying his hands, hesitated before responding. "I think visiting the children's ward is a nice idea and all, but what am I going to do while we're waiting?"

Bubbles shrugged. "If its okay with you I can go now and you can drive up later. That'd give me even more time."

Professor momentarily raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. "That sounds like a good idea. You were cooped up all day yesterday, after all."

Bubbles hugged him, saying, "Thank you, daddy. I promise I won't let them start my appointment until you're there."

"Thank you, Bubbles," he replied, bending his neck to kiss the top of her hair. "I'll see you in a while, then."

Bubbles quickly arrived at the hospital and zipped up the stairs to the fourth floor. She vaguely remembered how Blossom had handled this before. At the time she'd been on a mission to reach out to the community. In typical Blossom fashion, she pushed herself and her sisters from zero to full tilt in no time flat.

Fortunately, while that often left them falling flat on their faces, more good than harm had come from their efforts here. Because of their experiences, Bubbles had the confidence to approach this by herself this time.

"Excuse me, miss?" Bubbles spoke to a nurse behind a counter.

She smiled when she saw who her visitor was. "Bubbles! Hi." Bubbles had no idea who the woman was, since her intensive care and other appointments actually happened outside the children's ward. Still, Bubbles was accustomed to being recognized by strangers. "Stuck at the hospital again today?" the nurse asked.

"Just for a little while," Bubbles said. "My appointment isn't until ten, but I was hoping I could visit with the patients here. Maybe cheer them up a little."

"Oh," the nurse responded, not quite concealing her concern over the idea. "That's awfully sweet of you. But it's such short notice."

"I know. I'm sorry, but I didn't think of it until today. It's okay if you can't, but if you just need time to get everyone together I can wait." The latter had been the outcome when Bubbles and her sisters had barged in last time. That was years ago, and Bubbles couldn't remember how long they were stuck waiting, the three of them questioning Blossom's judgment all the while.

"I can ask the chief," the nurse replied, "but it'll be up to him."

Bubbles nodded and smiled. "That's okay. If you don't mind, you can page me at the one waiting area. Where they watch the kids." Bubbles was referring to a waiting area equipped and staffed to watch young children when unfortunate circumstance (or just poor planning) meant they were otherwise alone while their guardian was being treated or otherwise occupied.

"Oh. Third floor. East wing."

"Thank you," Bubbles offered before walking away, though she didn't need the directions.

Bubbles took in the scene when she arrived. There were about five children kindergarten age or younger, sitting on the mostly red and blue carpet inlaid with its scattered numbers, letters, and pictures. A young boy and girl played at a doll house, another girl was coloring, and two boys were playing with wooden blocks.

Aside from the nearby hospital staff, there was a heavyset middle-aged woman and an elderly man sitting in different parts of the room. They glanced up immediately when Bubbles arrived and smiled in recognition. The old man waved, and Bubbles waved back.

The children, however, were engrossed in their activities. It took nearly a minute before one of the boys with blocks bothered to look at the newcomer. Bubbles felt a pleasant warmth inside at his reaction. First, his eyes bulged. Then, when he was certain of what he'd seen, his mouth dropped open.

"Hey," he half-shouted, half-whispered, as only a child trying to be quiet can. He shook his companion's shoulder. "Hey! It's Bubbles."

Bubbles walked further into the waiting area as the other children took notice. It took some coaxing to draw some of them near, but soon it was a scene she'd grown used to by this point. All the common questions like "What's it like to fly?" as well the quota of unexpected questions. In this case, "Why are there no pictures of your mommy?"

The latter Bubbles answered diplomatically. "Well, I don't have a mommy like most people. If you want, you can ask _your_ mommy to tell you why I don't have one of my own, 'kay?"

They did ask about her eye, but she lied and told them the patch was like a band-aid and she wasn't allowed to take it off until it got better.

When one of the staff came by to say the children's ward was ready for her, Bubbles was surprised at how much time had passed. Still, there was time to visit the ward before her own appointment.

Bubbles managed to extricate herself with only a few moans and groans from the children here, soon returning to the nurse she'd spoken to earlier.

"They're ready for you any time," she said. "There are only a few patients who couldn't make it."

"That's fine. Maybe I can visit them in their rooms?"

"Well... One of them is unconscious, but... I'll check with the chief and let you know about the other."

"Thank you. And can you let me know when it's getting close to ten?"

"Oh, right, your appointment. Sure, dear, I'll keep an eye on the time for you."

The first several minutes were a repeat of her earlier encounter. However, some patients were in elementary school, which meant correspondingly more intelligent questions. One was even old enough to offer the societally expected "Sorry about your sisters," which prompted a few other children to chime in likewise while one or two others just nodded sagely, for a moment transformed into a caricature of adulthood.

Again, time passed too quickly. About half-an-hour before her appointment, the nurse made another appearance to say Bubbles could take a few minutes to visit one of the patients stuck in his room. Bubbles politely dismissed herself with a few farewells and well-wishes.

The curtains were drawn and the lights dimmed. After sliding open the glass doorway, the nurse silently gestured for Bubbles to enter and took her leave, closing the door behind.

Bubbles's eye quickly adjusted to the dreary setting. There was a lady, perhaps the boy's mother, slumped in a nearby chair, fast asleep. The boy himself was not much younger than Bubbles; she guessed ten years old or so. A plastic tube ran into his nostrils. His head was wrapped in gauze, covering even his left eye, forcing him to turn his head in order to look at Bubbles instead of the cartoons playing softly on the television. On the side of the bed furthest from her, his right arm was set in a cast running from wrist to just above his elbow.

"Hi," Bubbles greeted softly.

The boy stared at her blankly for several seconds. "Hey," he responded.

"Is that your mom?" Bubbles asked when the boy said nothing.

"Yeah," the boy replied weakly. "She's having trouble sleeping. The nurse gave her something to help."

Again Bubbles was forced to lead the conversation. "I'm Bubbles, by the way." She stretched out her left hand.

The boy hesitated, then gently grasped her hand. He did not shake it, but he did look into her eye and introduce himself. "Cody."

Bubbles smiled softly and withdrew her hand. "So, ah... What happened? Was it an accident?"

Cody shook his head. "No. My dad... My dad hit me. A lot this time."

"Oh," Bubbles said meekly.

"I'm not mad at you or anything. For not being there," Cody offered. "In case you were wondering or something. Dad says you got no business in people's homes."

She clasped his left hand in both of hers. "That's still awful. Did they arrest him?"

Cody shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Mom says he can't lie his way out of this one."

Bubbles failed to keep her pity out of her expression. "Did this happen a lot?"

"Not this bad before."

Bubbles eye stared into his for several awkward moments. When Cody glanced away, she asked, "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I guess," Cody said with another shrug.

"How about your eye?" she asked.

"Got tore up pretty bad. They had to take it out. How 'bout yours?"

"I dunno. I'm having another appointment today to check on it."

"That's good. I hope you can keep it."

Despite fear of what she might see, Bubbles chanced using her penetrating vision. His right forearm had one break, but several of his ribs on that side were broken as well. One floating rib was mostly missing. Perhaps surgically removed, Bubbles considered as she spotted a drainage tube inside the boy's body, near a clearly injured lung.

"Can I see it?" Cody asked.

Bubbles nodded, understanding. She carefully peeled away her eye patch, then rested her elbows on the bed while Cody got a better look.

"Cool," he said eventually, his expression still flat. "Where's the scar?"

Bubbles shut her right eyelid to display it.

"I don't see it."

Bubbles opened her eye and thought back to this morning. She's been so preoccupied with her bruising that she hadn't bothered to check her scarring. It, too, was likely gone by now. Her strange eye was the only visible sign of the damage Mojo had done.

Bubbles shuddered. It was almost frightening the trauma their bodies could handle. Blossom was the only of them one to die without the aid of Antidote X, but perhaps if she'd only made one or two fewer cuts her wounds would have clotted before she bled out.

"I guess it is kind of dark in here," Bubbles deflected.

The glass door slid open. "Bubbles," a nurse called softly. "Your father is waiting for you."

She glanced at the clock. It was only quarter 'til, but Professor always preferred to come early.

Bubbles smiled and replaced her patch. "It was nice meeting you, Cody. Maybe I'll get to see you again soon."

"'Kay," he replied noncommittally, turning his attention back to the cartoons.


	12. Muse

Chapter 12

[Muse]

Bubbles made her way on foot to a more familiar part of the hospital, where her father (and her doctors) were waiting. Along the way, she passed by an elevator. A short distance after, she became aware of distant, muffled shouting from within.

She turned around as the doors opened and the cries became clearer. Without being asked, Bubbles backed against the wall to let the cart pass. Hospital staff were trying to hold down a writhing, screaming, middle-aged woman with bedraggled hair.

Damp blood stained the white sheet draped over her, drenching her right thigh. On reflex Bubbles peered deeper, seeing the nasty compound fracture beneath and feeling a pang of sympathy pain.

The woman spotted Bubbles as she rolled by. Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in fury. "Why weren't you there?" she screamed as she rolled by. "Why weren't you there?" she repeated as she grew more distant. Eventually her accusatory question faded as she rounded a corner and later passed through a pair of doors.

Bubbles gasped and jumped when a large hand draped over her right shoulder, realizing only then that she'd continued to stare at the empty hallway.

She jerked her head to the right, in the direction of the hand, forgetting for a moment that was her blind side. Trying another angle, she was relieved to see Big Ben was the owner of the member.

"I'd not let that mardy bother you any. Just a spot of bad fortune and worse mood."

"What happened?" Bubbles asked flatly, turning around to face him directly.

"Mr. Lumpkins, if you can call him a 'mister.' Those country bumpkins sure are early risers, seems. Strolled into the park from the outskirts on foot. Must've taken the better part of the morning to do it. I tonked him but good, don't you worry. There'll be no passing-bells sounded this evening, I can assure you."

Bubbles nodded gently, her mannerisms still oddly devoid of emotion. "Thank you. I know it's not easy out there."

"Bah, it's not asking too much. Just our being here is enough to keep any chancers at bay. Even that primate seems to be keeping out of the way. Just as well, or I'd give him what-for. Even Lumpkins must've been behaving himself before he got all argy-bargy on us. Just a strolling down the streets, a whistling little happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine. Then—"

Big Ben clapped his hands together. Bubbles jumped slightly.

"—something set him off. He must be some kind of nutter, that one. What right-minded person could jump from beaming sunshine to violent psychopathy?"

Bubbles's mouth parted slightly, but she offered no words. Her eye wandered around uncertainly.

"Is everything all right, m'lady?"

"I'm running late for my appointment," Bubbles said.

"Well, call me Joey then. Sorry to hold you up, my dear. You and your father take care of yourselves."

Bubbles nodded as she turned on her heel. Her knees still felt weak by the time she arrived in the waiting area. She was sent along for the routine checkups and finally ended up in her family doctor's office.

Today's appointment was mostly fruitless, although surgery was finally put on the table as a serious suggestion.

"Now it's not as scary as it sounds," the doctor assured them. "These days cataract surgery is an outpatient procedure with very little risk involved."

Professor's response was immediate. "But we still don't know if this is a normal cataract, and she still can't even make out the difference between light and dark."

"But by all appearances its growth has stabilized. We're still considering the option of exploratory surgery to remove a small piece of it for precautionary study, but if the years have shown us anything it's that your girls are far, far more human than not, and it's generally best to proceed accordingly."

"But we'd have to remove her powers for the surgery."

"Well, obviously, but only for an hour or two at most."

"What if this is part of how that weapon works? What if her powers are keeping something in check? Someone should—why _hasn't_ someone gone kicking down that damned monkey's door and brought him in? We could find out exactly what we're up against."

Bubbles's heart started beating faster.

"I'm not the person to be asking that, Professor," the doctor reminded him. "But even I could guess how dangerous he'd be in his home. I can't say that there isn't something deeper happening here, but I can say we have no particular _reason_ to think so. Cataracts caused by physical trauma do happen. The rapid development could easily be explained by Bubbles's hyperactive healing and immune systems."

"Then why not trust them? Why interfere when for all we know this is just some kind of scab?"

The doctor was having trouble hiding his irritation at this point. "Because, Professor Utonium, if she were to suffer a severe break in one of her bones, do you think her body would properly set _and_ mend it? Even her body can do only so much on its own."

"But the surgery you're describing involves a replacement for the lens material that gets removed." The doctor sighed as Professor said this. They'd never discussed the details of such a surgery, which meant Professor was not only second-guessing medical decisions, but apparently doing his own research as well.

Professor's voice grew more forceful with every question. "Have you given any thought to what that might be? Even assuming her body isn't any more likely to reject it than a normal person, what if it lacks the strength to stand up to even her tiniest eye contractions? If she can see again, what about her powers? Do you want to put a piece of plastic in her eye that will melt and boil when she tries to use her heat vision?"

"Our _first_ concern is for a healthy, capable life."

"Capable? You would call _that_ capable?"

The doctor's tone finally raised to match and then exceed the Professor's. "Capable enough for the life of an ordinary little girl. Which, frankly, would have spared her this trauma in the first place."

Bubbles's face contorted into a sneer. She screamed through her teeth as she pounded the butt of her fist into the desk, cracking the surface and crunching its metallic body like a soda can. The hollow thud reverberated through several floors of the hospital. Below them, the ceiling cracked and dropped a small cloud of dust chips of plaster onto a nurse's station.

"Enough!" she shouted as she stood. "I'm tired of it! Do you know where this city would be without us? My sisters gave _everything_ they had to protect it. _Everything!_ And you know what? They were _glad_ to do it, and so am I!"

Hands planted on the remains of the desk to steady herself, Bubbles panted while everyone in the room (and, likely, several rooms adjacent) waited in silence.

All at once, her energy seemed spent. Her head drooped and her eyes closed. Tears and blood began to well up slowly, and her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "Do whatever you have to. But don't take this life away from me. Please. I'd rather lose this eye—lose _my_ eye—than to stop protecting people."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said. "This...clearly got out of hand. Maybe we should call it a day here?"

"I suppose so," Professor said, his voice oddly cold. He seemed completely unapologetic for his own attitude. "We'll discuss our options—safer, _better_ options—some other time."

"Forgive my brazenness, Professor," the doctor said, an edge returning to his voice, "but this is not your area of expertise by any means. If I feel your judgment is putting your daughter at risk—"

"Doctor," Professor interrupted standing and putting his arm on Bubbles's shoulder. She lifted her head up and wiped her face. "My 'area of expertise' is whatever I take a passion for. I've worked with nanoscopic machinery, and when it comes down to it, the human body is nothing but little machines built on top of little machines. Why, the things I've already—"

Professor stopped. Completely. For several seconds his mouth hung half-open where he left it, and he seemed a mere wax figure of a man. Then he closed his mouth and rubbed Bubbles gently on the back. "C'mon, sweetie. It's time to go home."

"I'm sorry about your desk," Bubbles said, looking at her doctor sheepishly.

He smiled, his anger somehow washed away. "It's all right. I never keep anything important in there anyway," he said with a wink. "You just run home and rest up for me, okay?"

Bubbles nodded as Professor guided her to turn around and walk out with him.

* * *

When Bubbles returned home, for once she knew exactly how she planned to spend her time. Much like Professor always did, as he made his usual fatherly gestures and offers before Bubbles blessed his departure to his lab.

She turned on the TV and sat at the family computer, half-listening to the local channel, waiting for News at Noon.

It didn't take long to find a brief news article. Today Fuzzy had hospitalized three people. A dog came to the defense of its owner and was flung against the trunk of a tree. When the article was written it was in critical condition, and the state of the three people was largely unknown.

Bubbles spent some time searching before finding a site listing complaints and stories from random people. Rather than dealing with today's encounter alone, it spanned years. Some were individual accounts from people who had been personally injured or suffered property damage by one of Townsville's various villains. Elsewhere, somewhat more reliable statistics had been compiled from official news sources and public court records.

In the last six years, Fuzzy alone had caused millions in property damage and injured hundreds of people. Some of these had suffered permanent injuries.

Soon the news came on. Bubbles sat back to watch.

"Good evening. This is Townsville News at Noon. I'm your anchor, Chris Tubell."

"And I'm Lisa Walters. Earlier today, Fuzzy Lumpkins went for a stroll in the park. A stroll that ended in an outburst that left several people wounded and many more frightened until visiting hero Big Ben stepped in."

Amateur camera photage showed Big Ben landing heavily from above, sending chunks of dirt flying as the focus momentarily blurred. Fuzzy charged at Ben, swinging his fist. Ben sidestepped him, grabbing his suspenders and the bottom of his overalls from behind. Fuzzy's momentum was turned to another purpose as Ben swung him around, spinning faster and faster until he let loose. The camera shot up and struggled to focus on the rapidly-vanishing pink spec.

Soon it turned back to Ben, who was now kneeling beside the injured woman Bubbles recognized from the hospital. Ben's head shot up and looked at the surrounding area. He quickly rose and strode over to a park bench, ripping it from the ground and bending the metal legs flat. He returned to the woman, setting it on the ground beside her.

"You, there! The bloke with the camera! Help me move this woman. I need to fly her to the hospital immediately."

The news program transitioned back to the anchors. "Well, Lisa, it seems our honored guests are doing a fine job of putting these ruffians in their place."

"Right back into the woods, judging by that right hook, Chris."

"Right you are, Lisa. In other news—"

Bubbles turned the T.V. off. Her interest in the computer had waned as well. She'd seen enough.

Fuzzy was probably still out there, and even if not, what did that matter? Caging and shackling him never taught him. Even the mightiest wallops failed to change his mind. After all these years, he was still strolling into the city like he owned the place (and lashing out at those who suggested otherwise).

In her bedroom, Bubbles stepped in front of her mirror. She looked herself eye-to-eye, silently asking herself what she was thinking.

She shook her head. No. No, she wasn't thinking that. What happened with Mojo would not happen again. Ever. She couldn't allow that, couldn't even think it. She couldn't change what had happened, but it wasn't too late to change her course.

For a time she entertained other thoughts, wondering if there might be some middle ground. Something else she could do. But with another firm shake of her head, she put those thoughts away. For now, those were problems for someone else to deal with.


	13. Two Evils

Chapter 13

[Two Evils]

"Well, well, well," Princess said as she stepped onto the patio. "Look who finally decided to grace me with her presence. And wearing her old clothes, no less." Princess sat down, picking up the iced tea that was waiting for her and adjusting her sun hat.

Bubbles smiled halfheartedly from the shade of the table's parasol. Her bare arms stretched out from the blue top the world was most accustomed to seeing her wear. Beneath the glass of the table her legs were crossed demurely, although her white tights concealed her tighty whities well enough on their own.

"So, thinking of getting back into crime fighting?" Princess asked plainly as her cup clinked back onto its saucer.

"I dunno." Bubbles leaned forward and put her clasped hands on the table. "Thinking of getting back into crime?" Bubbles asked, her smile broadening and becoming genuine.

"Well, that's one way to keep in touch. Honestly, though, I'd rather not add to your workload. I mean, if and when you get back to it. It's good you girls were usually more than enough to take on anything, because their numbers haven't thinned out any."

The corner of Bubbles's eye twitched in the hint of a wince.

"I figure the least I could do is take myself out of the arena," Princess finished, oblivious.

"You managed to pull your weight. You could probably do a lot of good if you tried."

Princess shrugged. Her carefully chiseled persona fell to the ground along with her gaze, leaving her melancholy obvious.

"I thought about it. Honestly, I have. I just... I don't think that's what I want, really. I want respect, loyalty, trust... I..." Princess looked up, the strain of uncertainty in her expression. "I think I have what I want."

Gingerly, with a jerky start and several pauses along the way, Princess put her hand on Bubbles's clasped ones. Her mouth hung half open as she wore the same out-of-her-element expression. Bubbles's lips curved into a gentle, inviting smile.

After seconds that felt to her like minutes, Princess managed to speak. "Is... Is that okay?"

Bubbles slowly blinked and nodded in the same movement.

Slowly, Princess's demeanor returned to status quo. "Like...I'm not being creepy or anything? The hand-holding thing and all? I mean, I know you bled on my shoulder and wiped it off with spit, so... Like, this is cool, right? People do this? Because you can totally tell me if I'm getting it wrong. Not that I'm faking it or anything. Could you say something? Please? I'm kinda out on a limb here and I feel like I'm talking myself into a hole."

By now Bubbles was chuckling. She extracted one of her hands and put it on top of Princess's. "You're fine. I promise. Thank you."

"Speaking of which," Princess said as she withdrew her hand, taking another sip of tea, and generally trying to return to business as usual. "What _is_ up with the wardrobe change?"

"Just trying to remember who I am, I guess."

"You and me both," Princess said without missing a beat.

"Well, maybe it's best if you keep those memories repressed," Bubbles shot back, barely hiding her wry smile behind her teacup.

"It's more than memories, though," Princess clarified. "I mean, I have a small arsenal here. Literally here. Most of which you've never even seen. Granted, individually, most of it's crap, which is why I've never used it. On the other hand, if I took it _all_ out at once I could have handed it out to lowly high school students and they'd have probably given you girls a run for your money."

"That's...comforting." Bubbles's smile had faded. Instead she regarded Princess with a serious, analyzing expression.

Princess froze, cup halfway to the table, staring back as a deer into headlights. "Bad move?" she asked.

Bubbles tilted her head a little for a moment, then closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, no. Just thinking... Why do people want to hurt each other? I mean, yeah, I get that some of the bad guys we bust are just trying to get by. They don't all steal because they like to put others down. Most of them are just thinking of themselves and don't care about their victims one way or another.

"But some people just want to _hurt_ someone. I've... I've never really been able to understand that."

Princess rolled her eyes. "Somehow I'm not surprised. For a second I wondered why you hadn't learned it by now, but I guess you don't have a face to put to any of it. Your sisters' deaths, I mean. Buttercup took everyone out with her (no shock there) and the others did themselves in. Just imagine, though, if you could put a face to it all. One person responsible for your misery and suffering."

Bubbles was used to Princess's lack of tact by now, finding it easier to focus on her point rather than get caught up with unintentional insults and _faux pas_. "I get what you're saying, but that's not what I really mean. I really don't get how someone can just _hate_ someone that didn't do them any harm. Or..." her thoughts turned to the boy at the hospital. "Or even someone they're supposed to love and care for."

Now came Princess's turn to go solemn. She rested her hand on the table, finger inside the teacup handle. She stared at the patio tiles underneath the table, or at least in their direction, as she gathered her thoughts.

"My...psychologists and I have actually talked about that kind of stuff a lot. How love and hate can get...mixed up."

"But what about people like Fuzzy or Mojo? How can someone hate complete strangers?"

Princess looked up now, half-exasperated. "Bubbles... How can you _love_ complete strangers?"

Bubbles's face softened. "I think that's possibly the sweetest thing you've ever said."

Princess blushed. "Just being honest." After finishing the last of her tea, she jumped back in with, "So about your treatments—"

"Ugh, no. Please," Bubbles groaned. "I'm getting sick of it. With everything else gone it's like that's all my life is anymore."

"Then you need to get out more. My dad's going to some European business conference this weekend. If you want, we can go with. I had already turned down his offer, but I think we could make it fun together somehow. I'm sure dad's people can accommodate a last-minute change of plans."

"I... Wow. I guess you can't get any more away than going to another continent," Bubbles replied, clearly showing the thought she was putting into the new and unexpected idea. "Maybe I'll see what dad thinks. It might be nice to get out of the city for a day or two."

"Ha!" Princess exclaimed. "You could get out of the city every day if you wanted."

Bubbles smiled. "Maybe, but that'd get lonely."

Princess cocked an eyebrow. "And loitering around here doesn't?" After a pause, she feigned disinterest as she asked, "About your dad... How's he doing? I hear he had a little tantrum the other day."

Bubbles narrowed her eyes briefly, but her expression quickly softened. "I'm the one that smashed a desk."

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what _are_ you worried about?" Bubbles demanded.

Princess continued, unphased. "I'm worried your dad may be taking this too personally. If there's anything I've learned over the years, it's that sometimes you have to trust a professional to do a better job than you."

"I trust my dad," Bubbles replied. "He'll look after me. He'll do the right thing. He always does."

Princess smirked. "Well, you've got a point there. A guy who can raise someone like you can't be that bad, can he?"

Bubbles felt a small empty spot inside. Outwardly, her face softened and her eye drifted to the side. "Princess... I kind of get where you're coming from, but... Why do you have to be so...involved?"

Princess sighed and put down her empty cup. Bubbles looked back at her, but Princess seemed deep in thought. When she did speak, it was in a small, plain voice, lacking her usual embellishments of confidence and control.

"I spoke with Blossom during Buttercup's memorial service. I told her that's just how the world works. Sometimes you lose good people, and you just have replace them." She finally turned her attention towards Bubbles. "I'm...not sure I believe that anymore."

Her expression indicated there was something more she wanted to say, but perhaps didn't know how.

Bubbles smiled softly. She rose and stepped over to Princess's chair, bending down to embrace her. "Hearing that makes me very happy," she whispered. Stepping back, she added, "But you could stand to take a little of your own advice. You don't need to hover over my case. We have good people working on this. They'll do fine."

Princess rolled her eyes and sighed, drifting into melancholy. "I guess I can give it some distance if that's what you really want."

"You worrying about it isn't going to do anyone any good, and the stress just might do you harm."

"Maybe, but I'd just feel...useless, I guess. Maybe stuff like _this_," Princess said, gesturing at the teacups, "is good enough for you, but I just feel more comfortable _doing_ stuff. Real results."

Bubbles smiled broadly. "Well, then let me repeat myself: I think you can do a lot of good. Maybe you should turn those resources to something more productive?"

Princess shot Bubbles another incredulous look. "What could be more productive than helping get your life back together?"

Bubbles winced so hard her eye almost closed. "I think there are parts of that I just have to...figure out on my own anyway. I mean, getting fixed up is good and all, but that's the doctors' job. But what you and dad are doing...trying to be there for me. That's important. More important than anything your money or his science could ever do. Really."

Princess smirked, though Bubbles noted a slight, pleasant flush in her cheeks as she spoke her derisive reply. "You'd be surprised what money and science can do."

Bubbles slowly shook her head, defeated. "Well, I see we still have some work to do."

"So, what, are you my therapist now?"

Bubbles shrugged. "Something like that. It's pretty amazing how two messed up people can make each other better."

Princess lowered her head and cocked her eyebrow, giving Bubbles her very best "you can't be serious" expression. "Honestly? How messed up could you really be?"

Bubbles smiled and leaned forward, whispering, "I'm hanging out with you."

"Touche," Princess conceded with a grin.

"Maybe I should get going, though. I need to pick up some things before I go home today, and it might take some pushing to get dad to warm up to this overseas trip."

"Errands again?" Princess asked, her concern over what happened last time plainly shown.

Bubbles smiled. "I wanted to. I can't hide myself away forever, you know."

"Yeah," Princess admitted softly.

"I'll let you know how it goes with the Professor. If nothing else, maybe we can have a sleepover or something. I think it'd be fun to hole up together for a day."

Princess smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Cool. I'll catch you later."

With a parting wave, Bubbles shot off.

Princess lingered for a time, pondering just how she'd like to be more "productive" with her resources.


	14. Repentance

Chapter 14

[Repentance]

With a deep sigh, Professor gave in, plopping into a kitchen chair. "Okay. You know how I feel about Princess, but I understand that she's been a good friend to you. If you'd like to have a sleepover, then you're welcome to it."

"Thank you, daddy!" Bubbles cried, wrapping her arms around her father's neck. After a moment, she backed away enough for them to look face to face, though she kept her hands clasped behind his neck.

"There's one other thing, too..." Bubbles started, then trailed off.

"What's that, sweetheart?" Professor asked, smiling softly now.

"Princess's dad is also going to a business conference in Europe this weekend. Princess said I could come if I wanted to."

Professor immediately put on a stony expression. "What?"

Bubbles unclasped her hands, her arms swinging wide out to her sides before her hands met again behind her back. Writhing her shoulders cutely and forcing a toothy smile, she said, "I thought it might be nice to get away for a little while."

Bubbles looked silently at the Professor, her face part uncertain smile, part grimace.

Professor looked at the floor beside them, running his fingers through the hair behind his head as he considered his response. "I don't know how I feel about that, Bubbles. Maybe it would be better for us to take a little vacation together instead?"

Bubbles pouted. "Maybe."

"Honey, have you even thought about what a 'business conference' would be like? How would that even be remotely fun to do?"

"I know. Even Princess doesn't want to go, but she will if I do. We'll probably just hang out and do touristy things and stuff."

"I..." Professor started, seeming truly torn in his desire to respond. "I'll have to think about that," he said at length, shaking his head almost imperceptibly as he spoke.

"It doesn't mean we can't have a vacation, too," Bubbles pointed out. "And it's not like I'd be that far away, really. I could be home in a few seconds. Even a kid playing at their next door neighbor's house couldn't get home that fast."

Again, the slight shake of the head. "But Bubbles... We know it's a scary, dangerous world out there. We know..." Here he paused to take a steadying breath, "that you're not invincible."

Bubbles just smiled softly, lowering her eye as she spoke. "I know, dad. But I can't hide from that world forever. Nobody can."

"I'd still feel a lot better if you'd take things a little more slowly. Exercise some caution." At this point a broad smile started to grow on his face. "I think in another month or two, we could have a great big family vacation. Put all of this behind us."

Now came Bubbles's turn for exasperation, sapping the strength of her father's smile almost immediately. "A month of two? That's, like, the whole summer away!"

Professor almost stammered as he backpedaled and tried to correct himself. "Well, uh, I suppose we could break sooner, but... I was just thinking about stuff in the lab, I guess. It... It could wait, I suppose." His reluctant tone somewhat diminished the accommodating nature of his words.

Bubbles cocked her head to the side, putting aside frustration and trying to show a genuine interest. "Really? Have you been working on something really big?"

Professor offered a weak, sheepish smile and a halfhearted shrug in reply. It almost melted Bubbles's heart to think her needs were driving a wedge between his love of family and passion for work.

"Maybe you'd like to show me?" Bubbles suggested.

"Ah, um... Well, I suppose. It's...not really very exciting."

Bubbles smiled. "It is to you," she said in a soothing, sweet voice.

Professor looked down and blinked a few times. Finally, he nodded and smiled. "Okay. I guess I really don't have anything ready to _show_ you, but... I'm actually working on two projects. I'm deep into research regarding treatments for your eye. It's not that I'm opposed to surgery and such. I just know the doctors have a...different take on things than you or I.

"The other project..." Professor paused, seeming to search for words floating in the air. "It's... Related to the alien material." He quickly continued, seeing the expected reaction of concern play out on Bubbles's face. "I can promise I'm not obsessing over it. It's— To be perfectly honest, it's something of a side project. It has merit to its own, but perhaps as part of a bigger puzzle. There are aspects of its design that could prove extremely useful."

Seeing Bubbles's expression abate somewhat, Professor took the opportunity to pause for a while. "I had spoken with Blossom a little about it. She wondered what I'd done with the other half of the shard, and I explained my interest in it." Professor heaved a weary, heavy sigh before continuing.

"I've wondered more than once whether there was some sign I should have noticed during that talk, or whether anything I might have said or done would have pushed her down the road she went. But in the end, I don't think there was.

"Back then, I was somewhat unimpressed with what I'd seen. The only promising... The only promising discoveries were on the areas closer to the wound, which I believe interacted with the Chemical X in Buttercup's body. On the fragment I had, there were only barest traces, tiny signs of the changes that took place.

"Those studies were a way for me to find closure. To understand and de-monsterize the thing that had taken my sweet little girl away from me."

Bubbles listened intensely, her face showing signs of keen attentiveness and nothing more. To Professor, her impartiality was somehow soothing.

"After Blossom passed, I picked up the broken pieces of the half she'd hidden away. As far as I can tell, she'd been holding onto it since Buttercup's cremation. Of course I wondered whether it might be in some way to blame for her actions. After she passed, I was as driven—perhaps even _more_ driven—to continue my investigations."

Professor paused, looking at the floor and reflecting.

"And what did you learn?" Bubbles asked very quietly.

Professor's pause continued a while longer before answering. "I'm still not aware of any way it could have influenced her, but there are some extreme differences. The unaltered material is able to carry and isolate basic electrical signals, almost like it had built-in wiring. But even in a huge ship, it's all for nothing without some computer to send and receive those signals in a controlled manner.

"But Blossom's half was different. There are signs of...specific pathways. In some ways they remind me of how the brain encodes memory, but beyond some superficial resemblance there's very little similarity."

Bubbles squinted her eyes as she considered the question she now asked. "So...could it have been thinking and learning?"

Professor shrugged. "I don't really know. It's fundamentally different than how any biological creature works. Alien to a degree that even aliens would find strange. If this thing were capable of recording memories, their form, function, and content could be something...beyond human understanding."

"I see..." Bubbles said, though more to indicate she'd heard enough than that she'd understood it fully.

"So I guess I haven't really learned anything," Professor added softly.

Bubbles smiled at him. "That's not true. You know an awful lot, and you must learn new stuff all the time. Besides that, it makes me feel better to hear about it. Especially the bit about memories. I mean, I kind of agree with the doctor that medicine isn't what you know _best_, but if you know that much about how the _brain_ works... Well, I guess it just makes me feel like you can fix my eye somehow, someday, even if nobody else can."

Professor stared back at Bubbles for a few moments, but those were all he could bear before he looked away. His eyes were hazy with tears when he looked back. "Thank you, Bubbles. That means the world to me."

They embraced, sharing a much-needed, quiet hug that reminded them no gap, no mere distance in their personal or daily lives, could drive them too far apart.

When they separated, Professor said, "It's been hard for me over the years to give you girls room to grow. I think many parents have those problems. Now that I've lost everybody but you... It's even harder sometimes."

Professor sighed deeply and collected himself fully. "When's this trip to Europe happening again?"

"This weekend," Bubbles replied, careful to not raise her hopes overmuch.

Professor nodded. "And where in Europe, exactly? For how long?"

"It's... Ah," Bubbles paused to scratch the back of her neck and flash a toothy grin. "I didn't think to ask."

Professor glanced at the floor for a few moments before suggesting, "Well, I suppose I could call her father and ask for the details."

"I only have Princess's cell phone number. I could call and ask her for her dad's."

"That's fine. Maybe you could call her up and let me talk to her?"

Bubbles considered this for a moment, then nodded slightly as she ran out of the kitchen. She returned a short while later, speaking into her phone.

"Princess? Hey, do you have a minute?"

"Sure," she replied.

"My dad wants to talk to you about the trip this weekend."

A pause. "Oh?"

"Is now a good time?"

"Sure, I guess," Princess said uncertainly.

"'Kay. Here he is," Bubbles noted before handing off the phone.

"Hello?" Professor greeted.

Bubbles, though she knew better, couldn't help but listen in on both sides of the conversation while she leaned against the counter and waited.

"Good afternoon, Professor Utonium," Princess offered, all trace of unease erased. Or, at least, very well concealed.

"Good afternoon. I just wanted to know some basic details about the trip. Where, exactly, will you be staying?"

A long pause. "I'm...not really sure. Honestly, I didn't even pay attention." Bubbles suppressed a giggle. Princess hurriedly finished explaining and excusing herself, nearly tripping on words in the process. "I mean, I'll definitely find out and have someone get back to you. Or me get back to you. Anyway, it's not that I didn't think it wasn't important or something; I just wasn't interested in going. But then I mentioned it to Bubbles and I thought it might be kind of a fun change and she wasn't even sure if you'd say 'yes' and I just kind of thought about it on the spot and... Anyway, I'll definitely look into this for you. Personally, if I have to. Can I call you back at this num— Oh, right, Bubbles's phone. What's your— Ah, never mind, I'll have someone get it. I'm really sorry about this."

Professor couldn't help but smile a little, though it was weighted with a sense of weary defeat. "That's fine, Princess. I really appreciate it. I'd just like to know where and when and for how long, and what I should do for Bubbles's travel arrangements. It'd be nice to be able to get in touch with her if an emergency comes up, too."

"That's okay, you can use this number," Princess replied, slightly less frantic than before. "It's a combination satellite/cell phone, and I'm sure we'll be together the whole time."

Professor's smile lost its air of weariness. "That sounds great, Princess. You can call either of us back whenever you figure out the details."

"I'll definitely, definitely do that," Princess replied.

"I'm going to hand the phone back to Bubbles, now."

"Okay," Princess replied. She shifted back into full-on acting mode with her parting, "It was a pleasure speaking with you."

"Likewise. Here she is," he finished, handing Bubbles the phone before returning to the chair.

"Hey, Princess?" Bubbles began.

"Hey."

"Sorry I didn't think to ask any of that stuff before."

"That's okay. I didn't think it through either. I can call you back in a few minutes."

"Great! Before you go, though, dad said 'okay' to having a slumber party sometime."

"Nice," Princess replied, before adding a wry, "But two people isn't much of a party."

"Sleepover, then, you nit-picker."

"It figures, _now_ I start paying attention to details. I'll call you right back, okay?"

"'Kay. Talk to you later."

"Later."

Bubbles pocketed her phone and turned her attention to Professor, still waiting in the chair.

"Do you think her dad will mind you tagging along?" he asked.

Bubbles shrugged. "If she really wants it, do you think he'd say 'no?'"

Professor smiled. "I may have been a bit harsh on her before. I've told you to trust your instincts about other things, and maybe I should trust yours on this one, too. Maybe people can change."

Bubbles smiled back, then blinked a few times to clear away a minor welling of tears blurring her vision. "But they can change back, too, right?"

Professor momentarily furrowed his brow in concern before striding over to Bubbles. He put his hands gently on her shoulders, cocked his head to the side, and asked, "Is something the matter?"

Bubbles smiled, but before speaking she looked down and swallowed hard. She had a calm, almost serene expression when she looked up again. "Not really. I just kind of lost control. Maybe I'm just happy you're okay with me hanging out with her, now."

Professor smiled and hugged her against his chest as he said, "You need your friends. I guess I should just be happy that she was able to be your friend when you needed it most."

Bubbles giggled and gently pushed him away after a few seconds. "Don't get me wrong, though. That girl still has her share of problems."

"I suppose. Maybe the line between a good person and a bad one can be a little fuzzy sometimes, but I get the impression she really wants to be there for you right now. The core of a person doesn't change overnight, though."

Bubbles considered his words for a few moments, staring off into the distance when she responded. "So if someone always wants to protect people and make the world a better place, that won't change so easily."

Professor, understanding that comment was referring to Bubbles herself, prompted, "But I'm not sure what's at Princess's core."

Bubbles smiled at him as she came back to reality. "Oh, I bet she thinks it's loyalty, power, respect, and some other nonsense. I think what she really wants deep down inside is to be loved."

Professor smiled back weakly, uncertain whether that was a claim he could accept. "I suppose if anybody in this whole world can give her that, it would be you."


	15. Palliative Solutions

Chapter 15

[Palliative Solutions]

Bubbles and Princess walked the streets of a bustling German city. It was lively, but not crowded. This particular section was blocked off from vehicle traffic, the broad space filled with pedestrians and dotted with the occasional street vendor.

One was selling bratwurst that filled the surroundings with a tempting aroma. Which, no doubt, wore on the nerves of other businesses confronted with it on a daily basis, but did an excellent job of luring tourists over. As it lured Princess and Bubbles.

Princess spoke to the vendor in terse, but respectable German, ordering two as she flashed her money. Whether from paranoia, experience, or years of firmly-ingrained business acumen, she kept the money in hand until the moment her bratwurst was placed in the other.

"I didn't know you spoke German," Bubbles noted, speaking English.

Princess shrugged, responding in turn. "Daddy says it's important to know how to do three things in any language. Buy, sell, and fire someone." Turning her attention to the vendor as he handed over Bubbles's bratwurst, she slipped in a little extra (and a little extra and a little extra) and said to him, in German, "Could you pretend I accidentally said something offensive and run me off?"

The vendor glanced at the money, then stared at Princess for a moment. He frowned and scowled slightly, replying in a raised, angry voice, "This is very generous! I hope you and your friend are enjoying your stay!" He then waved her away with a shooing motion.

"Whoops," Princess said in English, grabbing Bubbles's wrist and jogging away. Bubbles started giggling uncontrollably, eventually laughing hard enough that she motioned for Princess to stop near a fountain.

Wiping a tear from her eye, she said, "You know I speak every language, right?"

Princess smiled and shrugged. "Darn. Well, it was worth a shot. I never could remember if that was you or Blossom. Usually it wasn't important."

"Well, it was still good for a laugh," Bubbles admitted. Taking note of nearby benches facing the fountain, Bubbles motioned over to one. They watched the humble little water show of the fountain as they ate.

"You know," Princess said between bites. "I hear people snatch up little blue-eyed, blond-haired foreigners like you right off the street. Though I'm still not sure whether it's for adoption or sex."

Shocked, Bubbles almost choked as she gulped down her mouthful of food while chuckling at the characteristically brazen comment. "I'm sure that's a least part urban legend. Bad stuff happens everywhere, anyway. Now, what I wonder is what they'd do with a little ginger brat like you. Tie you to a stake and burn you?"

"Ha," Princess replied flatly. "With this skin they wouldn't even need a fire. Just leaving me out in the sun for a few hours ought to do."

They ate in silence a while more before Princess asked in a hushed voice, "So, how do you handle it? Knowing all the bad things that happen that you haven't put a stop to? Domestic abuse, slave trade—stuff like that?"

"Well," Bubbles replied, taking a moment only to finish swallowing her last bite of food, "we all just had to accept that we couldn't do everything. Now, sure, we actually did help bust up one or two groups of slavers, but those were bigger operations. That's what we usually focused on—big stuff. That and stuff that happened out in the open, like bank robberies or muggings."

"So you've never...come face to face with other stuff?"

"Sure we did. I remember one night patrol—I forget who we were keeping an eye out for—but I remember we just happened to hear screaming in a nearby building. Some older guy roughing up a teenage girl. They could have been related, for all we know. While we were trying to decide what to do, he started to pull down his pants. Blossom said we should get the police. Buttercup crushed an air vent into a little ball and threw it through the wall. Accidentally blew out the guy's knee. The girl escaped, we freaked out and flew away, and that was that."

Princess smiled, staring quietly at the base of the fountain. "That's actually kind of neat. Sad, but neat. Makes me wish things got better between us sooner." Turning to Bubbles, she added, "You know, this has actually been a lot easier than I thought it would be." Then she rolled her eyes and went, "Hmph.

"What am I saying?" she continued. "I never thought it would 'be' in the first place. Wasn't even trying to build a bridge between us. I guess it's a good thing you were, though."

Bubbles smiled. "You looked like you needed a friend."

Princess cocked an eyebrow. "Really? You'd just lost everyone but your dad and all you could think was that _I_ looked like I needed a friend?"

Bubbles smiled demurely. "Yeah, kind of. Just instinct, I guess. Although I'll be honest: it's helped me feel a lot better, too. Getting to know you and see you open up just feels wonderful. I love that kind of stuff. But I wouldn't have just randomly approached you because I needed a friend, or needed to make someone else happy. I guess when all the pieces come together right, sometimes impossible things happen."

Bubbles yawned hard and long, only afterward able to ask the time.

Princess checked her phone. "About 2:30. So it's 5:30 in the morning back home. You holding up all right?"

Bubbles nodded, though she was yawning again as she did so. Superheroic stamina or no, staying up all night wasn't easy. Not even when it was the middle of the afternoon in this country.

Princess smirked, though she herself was barely fending off the contagiousness of the yawns. "That juicy little meal do you in?"

Bubbles smiled back, blinking once, slowly. "Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to head back to the room."

"No shame in that. It's one thing to stay up and enjoy the nightlife, but given that our nightlife is almost halfway around the world..."

Princess reached out for the cardboard container Bubbles's bratwurst had been delivered in, then turned to a nearby elderly lady walking by. "Miss," Princess called out in German. She waved their trash and a pair of euros at her. "I'll pay you to throw these out for us."

The woman narrowed her eyes at Princess, then continued walking, muttering obscenities under her breath.

Bubbles sighed, taking the trash from Princess's hand and zipping to a trash bin a dozen meters away. She was done and back by the time Princess reacted to any of it.

"So," Bubbles said, "wanna fly?"

Princess pulled her head back and raised an eyebrow. "What? Carry me?"

Bubbles shrugged. "We've hauled you off before. It's not that bad."

She narrowed her eyes and protested, "Yeah, but it's not like I had a lot of choice. Besides, it's undignified."

Bubbles put on her best "are you serious" look and countered, "Less dignified than public transportation? I'd think being offered a personal airlift by the world's sole surviving PowerPuff Girl would be quite the honor, myself."

Princess sighed. "Well, if you put it that way." Flashing the two euros she still had in hand, she added, "Just don't get all grabby and there's a tip in it for you."

Bubbles smiled wryly, "We'll see. Turn around and stand on my toes; it's more comfortable that way."

With some awkwardness, Princess complied. She couldn't help but tense when Bubbles wrapped her arms around her, still unused to close, friendly contact.

"Ready?" Bubbles asked.

"Yup," Princess replied.

Suddenly, without warning, Bubbles started to tickle Princess instead. Princess quickly began laughing, doubled over even, but Bubbles held her closer whenever she tried to slip away.

After several seconds and a few panting pleas to stop, Princess suddenly felt heavy as they lurched into the air. Bubbles held her waist tightly, but Princess adjusted her feet to rest on Bubbles's toes anyway. They landed on the balcony of their high-rise suite, just down the hall from Princess's father's suite.

Conveniently, Bubbles had made sure to leave the balcony door unlocked before they departed. After sliding open the door, she invited Princess inside with a flourish.

"Well," Princess said, "you know how to live in style. A primitive, impoverished sort of style, but charming nevertheless. And you can forget about that tip, by the way."

Bubbles smiled as she closed the door behind them. "I think that was worth at least two euros. Do you mind if I take a shower before I turn in?"

"Nah," Princess said, already shedding her shoes and other accessories. "I might be asleep by the time you get out, though."

"That's okay," Bubbles replied. "I think I'll have to turn in once I get out anyway."


	16. Sundown

Chapter 16

[Sundown]

Bubbles and Princess sat across from each other at a small, round table in their suite. Princess was resting her elbows on her armrests, fingers intertwined near her chest. With a cold, blank expression on her face, she said to Bubbles, "Your father molested me before you were born. When daddy learned he made you girls, he moved into town to keep an eye on things."

Bubbles, leaning forward, stared back with her own quiet, empty expression. She'd taken her eye patch off to give her skin some air. Several moments later, she said, "Okay, you're good. I'm gonna say that's a lie, but only because it's just too out there."

Princess shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta go in big. Okay, your turn."

Bubbles sat back and turned her gaze to the sky outside. It was two in the afternoon in Townsville, but just past eleven at night here, leaving the city lights and some scattered stars visible.

Turning back to Princess, she said, "I played 'show me yours and I'll show you mine' with a boy in second grade."

Princess regarded her shrewdly. "Not bad. Young enough to be curious, maybe not quite old enough to know better. Still, I'm gonna have to go with 'lie' on that one."

"Right," Bubbles acknowledged. Without missing a beat, she added, "We were in first grade. Your turn."

"Ha!" Princess replied. "Now I know that's a lie."

"Oh, really?" Bubbles invited.

"Well, duh, you were practically cootie-phobic. That whole year you didn't even sit less than a desk away from a boy if you could avoid it."

Bubbles blinked her eyes rapidly, mouth open and lips curling up in a mix of nostalgia and wonderment. "Wow, you knew about that? And for that matter, how could you forget I'm omnilingual but remember that, of all things?"

"Well, you've gotta admit, boy-phobia is something I could actually use against you. And did once before, if you recall. Not really a lot I can do to turn linguistics into a weakness. Up until recently that kind of stuff pretty much dictated what I thought was worth remembering about you.

"Now, my turn." Princess paused a few moments. "I dressed up as Blossom for a Halloween party at the mansion. Daddy paid some kids to come, and I made everyone call me 'Blossom' the whole time."

"Oh," Bubbles cooed, pursing her lips. "That's so sad! I hope that's a lie, because otherwise I just might have to adopt you and love you forever."

Princess blushed. "That...actually wasn't a lie."

"Oh," Bubbles cooed again, standing up and approaching Princess. She gently lifted Princess to her feet and embraced her before she could resist. Rocking gently from side to side, she said, "I promise so long as I'm around you'll never have to pay for love again."

Despite herself, Princess gradually relaxed and accepted the warm embrace. But she wasn't able to completely stop her defensiveness, which demonstrated itself in words instead. "So when I get older and start thinking about gigolos, you've got my back?"

"Gross," Bubbles exclaimed, laughing. She backed up enough to look Princess in the face and asked, "Do you seriously think about that kind of stuff all the time?"

Princess rolled her eyes. "Well, c'mon, it's not like we haven't heard our classmates giggle and squeal about this stuff when nobody else is around. In fact, some of the stuff that comes out of their mouths makes the businessmen I overhear sound like gentlemen." Princess sighed. "Look, in any case I just slipped. I feel kind of uncomfortable—" she quickly corrected herself, "I mean, not really, but kind of. I mean, it's just that I'm not used to this kind of stuff and panicked a little. Sorry I spoiled the moment."

Bubbles giggled as she let go and returned to her chair. "Princess, these kinds of things _are_ the moments with you. Don't worry about it."

Princess sighed again, this time in relief. She took her seat and tried to remember who's turn it was.

"So tell me," Bubbles chimed, "have you ever needed to sleep with a family member after a bad dream or any stuff like that?"

Princess shook her head. "Sometimes one of the nannies or maids would sit up with me until I'd get sleepy again, though."

"You know, my sisters and I slept together for years before we got separate rooms. It was kind of nice. Sometimes—well, even before...you know—sometimes I'd miss sleeping together."

"Really? Seems like it'd just be all getting too hot, bumping and kicking each other, and fighting over covers."

"Not really. You don't care about that kind of stuff once you fall asleep. Unless you're a light sleeper or something. Maybe we just got used to it. But I was thinking maybe you and I could try it. If you're uncomfortable about people being close, it might help with that."

"Ah, thanks, but I'll pass. I'm not really into the whole cuddling thing."

Bubbles giggled. "No, silly, it wouldn't be like that. Sometimes it's just nice to know someone is there, right next to you, and isn't going away any time soon."

Princess pursed her lips and stared out the balcony for a moment. "All right, I'll think about it. In the meanwhile, I think it's your turn."

"Hmm," Bubbles hummed, slouching in her chair a bit. The silence grew awkwardly long before Bubbles finally sat straight. She folder her arms and rested them on the table, leaning forward. With an expression of utmost seriousness, she said, "I killed a bunch of people."

Despite herself, Princess felt a slight chill run down her neck. "Wow, okay. A little ridiculous, but not bad on the delivery. I'll give you points for that, but I'm gonna have to call 'lie' again."

Bubbles smiled softly and leaned back. "Thanks. I guess it's your turn again."

Princess tapped her fingertips against one another as she pondered. This was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone.

"Hold on," Princess said, walking across the room to grab it from her purse. "Yeah?" she answered.

Bubbles watched in polite silence.

"Really?" Princess prompted. Then, "The what?"

There was a much lengthier pause before, "All right, I'll keep it in mind. Keep me posted."

Bubbles sat forward cocked an eyebrow as Princess finished the call and returned to her seat.

"Well, that was...unexpected news," she said.

"What's that?" Bubbles asked, cocking her head. Princess's expression was difficult to read.

"Apparently the Gangreen Gang was attacked this morning. One of them, Arturo, eventually came to the police for protection."

Bubbles's eyes briefly widened in response as she leaned back in her chair. "That is unexpected. What about the rest of them?"

"They... They're dead, actually."

Bubbles stared at Princess, mouth slightly open, for several empty seconds. "If we're still playing the bluffing game, I think it's time to stop."

Princess shook her head. "Sorry, Bubbles, but it's true. Some guy in a burlap sack went at them with a sickle. Arturo says he called himself the Harvester."

Slowly, Bubbles's face softened as her gaze drooped. "I don't suppose he knows why, does he?"

"Actually, the Harvester basically said catching criminals wasn't enough anymore."

Bubbles looked up again, face a mix of emotions, all of them distant. Shock, uncertainty, and weariness chief among them. Eventually she closed her mouth and swallowed. "I guess he's not the first to feel like that. But...I'd like to believe Townsville doesn't need someone like that."

Princess shrugged. "It'll work itself out. People like this guy get both heroes and villains turned against him. Those kinds of odds aren't in his favor."

"But he's not picking fights with heroes. Who knows how long it might take to catch him."

"Ah, about that..." Princess began. "See, he also said the heroes who let the criminals run free are just as guilty."

Bubbles's eyes widened.

"Not that I think _you_ need to worry about it. Powerful people like you aren't easy to come by. Chances are this guy doesn't hold a candle to you. For all we know he's just an ordinary guy who's read too many comic books and with too much time on his hands. Which, come to think of it, kind of goes hand-in-hand with each other, but whatever."

"But what about _you_?" Bubbles asked. "If we're going to start talking about stuff so close to home, it seems like you'd be a better target."

Princess considered it for a moment, but said, "Well, I can step up protection for a while. Plus, I've got you to watch over me. In any case, I plan to have my people dig into this. I figure maybe I should take you up on your suggestion to make better use of my resources. Or at least give it a try and see how it goes. With any luck, this might even blow over before we get home."

Bubbles sighed in relief and closed her eyes, nodding. "I sure hope so. Promise you'll let me know the moment you think something might be wrong."

Princess nodded. "Sure. And you, too. That's what friends are for, right?"

Bubbles smiled. "So does that mean we've moved on from 'the friend' to 'my friend?'"

"Better. How about 'my best friend?'"

"You know what'd sound ever better?" Bubbles asked.

"What's that?"

"Best friends forever."

"Hmm... I dunno. 'Forever' seems like an awfully long time. How about best friends for an indeterminate, nonbinding, probationary period?"

"Wow, that's a mouthful. Does that mean I get half your stuff if we split up?"

"Nope. I slipped a contract in the papers you had to sign for international travel. My lawyers tell me it's reasonably fair."

Bubbles smiled. "I'm gonna have to call 'lie' on that one. A little too out there."

"Really? I figured with my trust issues it didn't sound that out of character. All right, what've you got?"

"Um... Well, you know how I can talk to animals, too? When a dog barks at someone walking by, they're really hitting on you badly, like a construction worker."

Princess actually laughed that time. "Okay, I know it's a strange world we live in, but that's still a bit too ridiculous. Besides, it's starting to feel like you're trying too hard to seem honest. You have to try to be more relaxed. More casual."

"I guess I'm just not that good at lying," Bubbles said.

"Well, stick with me, kid, and you'll go far."

"Hmm... I'm gonna have to call 'lie' on that one."

Princess smirked.


	17. In Memoriam

Chapter 17

[In Memoriam]

Monday, the morning after their return from Europe, Princess sat in her spacious reading room, glancing over a newspaper. Eyes slightly puffy, she was still suffering from the disruption to her sleeping schedule. She tried to power through with a cup of coffee, unusual for her age but not unusual for her.

Soon she tossed the paper onto a side table and set her empty cup on it. She then strolled over to an empty area of wall, pressing her thumb on a nondescript spot. A small light flashed underneath what appeared to be wood paneling, and with a series of clicks and whirrs a portion of the wall retracted and slid aside, revealing a small elevator.

There was only one button inside. Princess pushed it, and in a few short seconds stepped out into dimly-lit, metallic corridors. Almost immediately, a young woman with long hair, glasses, and a thick folder full of papers clutched to her chest rounded the corner. Without so much as a greeting, the woman began speaking in a cold-yet-familiar way.

"No major developments in tracking down the Harvester, but we're compiling a list of physically capable individuals in the area and cross-referencing that with psychological profiles and background checks."

Princess walked by without even a sign that she was paying attention, but the woman simply started following slightly behind and continued speaking.

"We've also prepared a list of likely next targets. Our psychologists reviewed Arturo's statement and coroner's reports. Harvester seemed to take his time. Low-threat targets he can toy with are a likely preference."

After rounding another corner, Princess and the woman stepped into an even darker, less hospitable room. A single chair sat behind a semicircular desk. In response to Princess's entry, holographic screens flared to life in mid-air, providing light enough to move around. As Princess moved to her seat, the woman continued speaking.

"To that end, we're stepping up security detail. We suggest at least three bodyguards in close range at all times, at least one of them superpowered, at least until the extent of the Harvester's capabilities are known."

Princess nodded curtly. "Acceptable, but not when Bubbles is visiting. I'd rather not be that inhospitable, and she can take care of us both."

"You...might want to take a look at the files before you confirm that," the woman countered, handing over the folder she was holding.

"You're giving it to me on...paper?" Princess asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Judgment call. I thought discretion would be warranted. Only you, myself, and a single lab tech are privy to one bit of information in there. I have a cleanup detail on standby."

"For what? Maybe you should give me the short version."

"Of course," the woman said with a slight bow of her head. "All the backing evidence is there, and it seems pretty clear-cut.

"In our investigations, we gained entry to Mojo Jojo's residence. The inside was a bit of a mess, and it seems he had asphyxiated several days prior. There were signs of a struggle, and while no autopsy has been performed the cause of death is suspected to be strangulation."

"So you're saying the Harvester might be a threat to superpowered individuals?" Princess prompted.

"Actually, ma'am, this appears to be an unrelated incident. We found blood on Mojo's glove. Further analysis revealed it... Well, it belonged to Bubbles."

Princess narrowed her eyes at the woman as if seeking confirmation, but asked nothing. She flung open the folder and spread the papers on her desk, alternately skimming and scanning, looking for and consuming the important details. The nameless woman stood patiently nearby.

"The estimated time of death... Puts it within twenty-four hours of Bubbles and Mojo meeting at the grocery store."

"Yes, ma'am."

Princess stared silently at the papers, going over all she'd read as well as all she could remember of Bubbles's actions the last week. Again, the woman waited quietly.

"Send in the cleaners. If there are any other copies of this report, destroy them. How do you plan to silence the lab tech?"

"We are prepared to 'find' evidence to discredit and portray him as a disturbed, unreliable individual, but unless he grows a conscience that should be unnecessary. Material incentives should be adequate."

"Double his pay. Offer him a month off and a fair, one-time bonus. If he tries to extort more than that later, keep your evidence handy. My generosity only stretches so far."

"Of course, ma'am."

"I stick with my conditions for security. For that matter, when we're together I don't even want anybody in earshot of Bubbles unless I request otherwise. Understood?"

"Crystal clear." After several moments of silence, she prompted, "Will there be anything further, ma'am?"

"No," Princess said, deep in thought.

The woman gave a slight nod, then turned to leave.

"Wait," Princess prompted. "Yes. Yes, there is one more thing." When the woman turned around, Princess elaborated. "The anti-PowerPuff arsenal? Get rid of it. Strip it down, tear it apart. Keep the GRX7342, Q77-alpha, and the latest model of the Cray, Mantis, and Nova line of powersuits. Those are general purpose enough."

For the first time the woman seemed uncertain. "Um... You're certain of that. All of it?"

"Yes. I'll go through and delete the research data and schematics myself."

"What, ah, what sort of timetable are we looking at?"

"By noon this Friday."

"That...might be difficult with these facilities."

"Then ship them to the Northwood facility. I don't care, just make it happen."

"Yes, ma'am. Certainly, ma'am. But...as your personal...aide, may I ask what your reasoning is? I admit I'm a bit uncertain, and I'd like to ensure I can continue to properly represent your interests in this matter."

"My interest is to support Bubbles. I need her to know she can trust me when I tell her about this. Besides, it's not like most of that junk was ever really worth the space to store it in."

"I see. It's just...her recent experiences, coupled with this, may be cause to question her level of—"

"Ruby, let me level with you. I'm not worried about Bubbles. Worried for her, but not about her. There's a slasher out there that's as good as threatened both Bubbles and myself. You focus on him, and Bubbles and I will watch each other's backs. I can't say I blame her for what she did. If anything, it was pragmatic.

"Besides, some of the things she's said in private take on a new light in hindsight. I seriously doubt this is an experience she _ever_ wants to repeat. In any case, she has no reason to be hostile towards me, and you're going to help keep it that way."

"Yes, ma'am. I think I'm on the level, now. Thank you for indulging me."

"It was understandable this time, Ruby. After all, you're my nanny. It's your job to look after me, isn't it?"


	18. Late Night Walk

Chapter 18

[Late Night Walk]

Later that day, Bubbles looked away from the family computer when she heard the doorbell. Peering through the front of the house, she saw Princess. Her mouth briefly flickered into the semblance of a smile, but perhaps only out of reflex. Standing behind and beside Princess were three men wearing suits, ties, and sunglasses. Bodyguards that fit the very stereotype of a secret service agent.

Upon seeing them, Bubbles frowned slightly, pausing to regard them for several moments until Princess raised her hand towards the doorbell again. Her other hand clutched a broad, thin, black object. Bubbles looked deeper and noted it was an electronic device, probably a computer tablet.

Before she rang the bell again, Bubbles opened the door, smiling again as she said, "Hi. I wasn't expecting...company." She nodded her head slightly at Princess's crew. "Is everything all right?"

"They're just a precaution, with all this Harvester business going on. Which, actually, is what I came to talk about."

Bubbles's eyes widened momentarily. "Well, I wasn't expecting that."

"Well, it's not much, but I wanted to be sure to share what we've found out with you and your dad, if he's available. My protection will wait outside while we talk. Is now a good time? "

"Maybe. I don't know what dad's in the middle of. Would you like to wait inside while I call him up?"

"That's fine," Princess said.

Inside, Bubbles commented, "I know I tend to drop by unannounced, but that's just because it's no big deal to turn around if you say 'not right now.' I don't have a problem with nice surprises, but if you were worried we might not be ready you could have called. Unless you've actually got people keeping tabs on us for you, or something."

"No, nothing like that. My people have advised me to keep my movements unexpected, though. If I'd called ahead, someone could have listened in. Probably more paranoia than anything, but there's so little we know about the Harvester other than that his complaints make me, and quite possibly you, desirable victims."

"I guess that makes sense. I suppose nobody can be too careful." Bubbles's last statement drifted into distant softness as her eye swept over a family portrait hanging near the door. Without much pause, however, she looked back to Princess and said, "Just a sec."

She jogged into the kitchen, flung open the basement door, and called down, "Hey, dad? Princess is here to see us. Can you come up?"

Princess was able, just barely, to hear the response. "Ah, I'm... Kind of in the middle... Can she just wait a few minutes?"

Bubbles looked over to Princess, who nodded.

"Yeah, that's okay. See you in a minute."

Bubbles walked back to Princess and said, "A few minutes might be more like ten, if he's real busy. Do you...want to see the house? Or something?"

Princess shrugged. "It's not like I haven't been here before."

Bubbles smiled weakly. "Well, different circumstances and all... Thought I'd offer."

Princess stopped to think about that offer, staring at Bubbles as if sizing her up. "I suppose it'd be a good way to pass the time."

Bubbles smiled more strongly, grabbing Princess by the wrist and tugging her along as they bounded up the stairs. Princess, while no sloth, was unaccustomed to such open displays of excitement. Bubbles's smile became infectious.

They stopped at Bubbles's room. She led Princess inside, then lifted her arms and spun around with a flourish.

Princess reverted to her usual, sterner demeanor. "Wow. I'm surprised at how...clean it is."

Indeed, Bubbles's desk was clear, her bed made, and nothing on the floor that didn't belong there. Bubbles plopped down on the bed, bouncing a little as she settled.

"I think I've cleaned this whole house more in the last three weeks than... Well, maybe not more than I've cleaned it in three years, but it feels like a lot more."

"I think the decor suits you," Princess complemented, nodding. "What about your sisters' old rooms?"

Bubbles tilted her head up and paused, her mouth hanging open as her eye darted around in tandem with her thoughts. She quickly made up her mind, pressing her lips together and offering a curt nod. When she spoke, she'd reverted to _her_ usual, cheerful demeanor. "Sure. Buttercup's is next door, so we'll stop there next."

Hopping off the bed, she swung around the doorway and down the hall. She waited for Princess to stand beside her before reaching out to the door knob. Before she opened it, she turned to catch Princess's eye, replacing her smile with a solemn, blank expression.

Door now open, they stood in the hallway for a few moments before Bubbles stepped in. Princess followed soon after.

"Dad's been so busy lately, and I think we'd want to clean it up together," Bubbles explained. "I don't know if I'm ready yet or not, but thanks to that I haven't really needed to find out."

Princess regarded Bubbles silently for several seconds, before slowly casting her eyes down and angling her head ever so slightly to the door. Whether a conscious gesture or not, and whether Bubbles interpreted it as such or not, she did offer an exit, "Blossom had moved into the study downstairs, by the living room."

Princess, still not looking directly at Bubbles, nodded gently and stepped into the hallway. Bubbles was smiling again once she closed the door behind her. She remained that way as Princess followed her downstairs, pausing briefly to set her tablet on an end table, not seeing the need to carry it everywhere. Then they reached the other closed door.

While the mess here felt a bit more violent, with the toppled nightstand, Bubbles didn't need to explain again why the room was left in its current state. In fact, this time they said nothing.

However, Princess did walk over to Blossom's headboard, full of books. She reached out her hand, gingerly, pausing long enough for Bubbles to stop her if she wanted (or for Princess herself to change her mind). Gently, she rested her fingertips on the hard surface atop the nightstand, pausing a moment before pulling away.

Princess looked at her fingertips, rubbed them together, seeing and feeling the thin coating of dust on them. She turned her head, looking at Bubbles, who watched with a soft, empty expression that mirrored Princess's.

Princess walked the few steps between them and, surprisingly enough that Bubbles jumped slightly when she did it, wrapped her arms around Bubbles's midriff and hugged her tightly.

Bubbles's expression softened, then grew a soft smile. She returned the gesture, albeit more gently. There they remained for a time, Princess's bear-like grip inevitably softening.

They broke apart when they heard the door to the basement open and footsteps traversing the kitchen. Slipping out of the room, Bubbles quietly closed the door behind them. Princess picked her tablet back up and held it in front of her, watching the entrance to the kitchen as Professor stepped through.

"Good afternoon," Princess said with a nod. "I'm sorry to bother you on such short notice, but given the situation I thought it best to pool our information. My investigators have drawn some conclusions the police have overlooked."

Professor blinked his eyes a few times and shook his head rapidly. "I—pardon? What investigators? What police involvement?"

Princess was suddenly, equally taken aback. "I, uh... About the Harvester. Bubbles was thinking I should direct my efforts into some good cause, and this seemed like as good a start as anything."

Professor smiled, now. "That's wonderful! But...ah..." He paused to scratch the back of his head. "I'm still not sure what this 'Harvester' you're talking about is."

Princess cocked an eyebrow and turned to face Bubbles.

Bubbles smiled shakily, speaking in an equally uncertain voice. "I just... Ah..." She paused to swallow, seeming to realize she'd been caught doing something wrong. "I just didn't want to worry him."

Professor's deep concern was written on his face as he spoke, slowly turning his head several times between the two girls as he addressed them both. "All right, you have my attention. Nobody's said anything to me and I haven't been following the news, but I'd like an explanation of what, exactly, is going on."

Princess responded, "Well, that's great, because that's exactly what I'm here to do." Taking the tablet in one hand, she used it to gesture at the couch, inviting Professor to take a seat.

At this point, however, his gaze was fixed firmly on Bubbles, who seemed to wilt before it.

"Has Ms. Bellum or anyone else tried to contact me?"

"Yeah," Bubbles said softly, unable to look at her father. "I said I'd pass the message along."

He continued to stare sternly for a several seconds longer, before taking a seat on the right side of the couch and looking at Princess.

"Thank you," he offered. "Could you please start with the short version?"

"Well," Princess said, walking to stand in front of the television. As she continued speaking, Bubbles eventually started moving, meandering over to sit on the end of the couch, opposite the Professor. "Early Saturday morning, the Gangreen Gang was attacked and almost completely wiped out by someone who identified themselves as the Harvester. 'Little Arturo' hid for several hours before coming to the police. The killer said things indicating disappointment with how the criminals in this city go unpunished. It could be interpreted that this...disappointment is directed just as strongly at people like Bubbles, who could have done 'more' and didn't."

Sensing a break in the explanation, Professor turned to Bubbles again, this time with a hint of softness that wasn't there before. "Sweetie? Is that what you thought I'd worry about? That someone might be trying to hurt you?"

Bubbles didn't turn to face him, instead scrunching up her face and shaking with a pair of dry, quiet sobs.

"Bubbles. Honey," Professor said, sliding down the couch to wrap one arm around Bubbles's back and hold her beside him. He craned his head to kiss the top of hers before continuing. "I know a lot has happened, but that doesn't mean we should stop trusting in and relying on one another. Now isn't the time to start keeping secrets."

"But that's not it at all!" Bubbles countered, turning her face upward. Awkwardly, with Professor sitting on her blind side. She peeled her eye patch away, either in discomfort or frustration, and jerked the back of her wrist over it to wipe away the blood that had started pooling on her cheek.

"I'm scared!" she continued. "Scared someone's going to come after me! Scared I can't protect myself anymore! Scared that I'll be too afraid to do anything when I'm actually face-to-face with _them_! And—no!—I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to make my days _suck_ even more by spending them worrying about it. It's not like _you_ could even do anything about it, anyway!"

Professor's growing softness vanished. He took a moment to calm himself before responding. "Certainly not. Not if you don't even let me try." At this point, Bubbles seemed to be studying her lap with great care. "All of which is beside the point. I am your father, first and foremost, and you have no excuse for lying to other people and keeping them away from me."

Professor turned to Princess, now. "I'm very, very sorry for this. I know this is important, but do you think you could come back another time?"

Princess had lost herself in watching the scene unfold, and had to physically shake the fog from her head. "Of course. Certainly. I came prepared to summarize our findings for you, but I planned to leave this," she held up the tablet, "with you anyway. The password is your social security number multiplied by hers."

Professor cocked an eyebrow and regarded her with a strange expression.

Princess shrugged. "Well, _most_ people other than you shouldn't know them." She set the tablet down again. "I'll show myself out. Please, don't hesitate to contact me if there's anything else I can do."

Princess shifted her gaze onto Bubbles, who continued to look down. "I'm sorry, Bubbles." She took a half-step forward, seeming to want to _do_ something for her, but in the end just stopped, shook her head, and said, "Please, talk to me soon, okay?"

Bubbles nodded weakly.

Back to Professor, Princess said, "I'll show myself out. Good day."


	19. The Crimson Nights

Chapter 19

[The Crimson Nights]

Two days later, on Wednesday afternoon, Princess made another visit to the Utonium residence. The three of them gathered at the kitchen table this time, the girls across from one another and Professor at their sides.

Professor, having put matters to rest with Bubbles the other day, seemed level-headed and cooperative. His treatment of Princess thus far seemed to show some level of appreciation for her assistance.

Bubbles, for the most part, sat quietly and listened to Princess and Professor go back and forth. Certainly, they seemed to have plenty to discuss without her help.

"I think an important fact here," Princess began, "is that this victim, for all anyone can tell or is aware, was an ordinary person. From this, we can draw two major conclusions: that the Harvester is gunning for more than major villains, and that he had means of _identifying_ this one."

Professor countered, "That may be so, but doesn't that still leave a lot of possibilities?"

"True. But there are only so many ways to keep tabs on a whole city." Princess sighed and propped her chin on the butt of her palm. Staring across the table, at Bubbles or at nothing in particular, she replied in a thoughtful, almost muttering tone. "Only so many people who can pull that off."

Bubbles's eye twitched ever so briefly, but if she were upset at the possibility Princess was directing the comment at her, she kept quiet about it. In any case, Princess quickly recovered her momentum and continued.

"Now, there's no way to be certain, but we don't believe his daughter revealed his abuse to anyone. Of those close to the victim—the dad, that is—nobody seems to fit the profile of the Harvester. I think it's worth assuming an outsider somehow managed to obtain information about this highly private situation."

"Do you mean your analysts think it's worth assuming?" Professor asked, wearing an inquisitive but otherwise neutral expression, simply wondering where the question would lead.

"Well, that too, but I'm not a mere child anymore. I may not be the smartest person around, but the kind of business management skills a Morbucks needs involve a lot of cost/benefit and risk/reward decisions. If we had to make a decision right now, I think this is the most promising one. That's all."

"Are we even certain it's the same person?" Professor asked. "And not a copycat? The only descriptions we have are from Arturo and, now, a four-year-old. The general description is fine, but the analysis of the wounds and blood spatter indicate an assailant almost six inches taller. What's more likely? That this is a different person or that he'd intentionally try to confuse analysis of his height?"

"Arturo's description of events indicated a lot of dodging and acrobatics. I could imagine more slashes from crouching or bent positions in that circumstance. I doubt any of that was necessary for last night's murder. Or even possible in the confines of his home."

"Well, what are some of the differences we're looking at? Victim profile, height, and time of night. Anything else?"

Princess shook her head. "Not really. There are more similarities than differences. Cleanness and confidence in the cuts, general description, and leaving exactly one witness."

"But the witnesses don't seem to be intentional," Professor countered. "At least, given his professed motives, I doubt he'd want to subject a young girl to witness the sight of her father's murder, even if that father had his bad moments. As quickly as it ended, it's pretty surprising she even happened to go downstairs in the middle of the night in the first place."

"Exactly. It's a bit coincidental. Even with the Gangreen Gang, how hard would it have been to look around for Arturo? You'd think the Harvester would at least go for an accurate headcount."

"True, but it was almost dawn when the Harvester fled that scene. He might have run out of time, if he prefers to work at night. Which, if this isn't a copycat, might explain why this murder occurred at 3:00 A.M. Learning from past mistakes?"

"Well," Princess said, leaning forward and looking at Bubbles, trying to engage her. "Whoever it is, he seems to put a lot of thought into things other people wouldn't. Or she, I guess, since all we've got are baggy clothes and Arturo's interpretation of a rough voice. I think those wooden sandals are especially odd, even if it does help confuse foot size. 'Geta' or whatever you call them."

"'Geta,'" Bubbles quietly corrected, coming out more like 'gay-tah' than Princess's 'get-tah.'

Princess pursed her lips and absently clicked her pen in and out.

Bubbles's eye briefly swept over Princess and Professor. "What? It's a language thing. I'm allowed to know that stuff, aren't I?"

Princess clarified, "I just wonder why you're not more involved. I thought you'd appreciate the opportunity to stop him when you seemed so worried about the whole situation."

Bubbles scowled and leaned forward slightly, pressing her palms into the table, fingers fanned out. "Just what are you implying? You keep looking this way whenever you stop to think. If you're going to accuse me of something, then—"

"Accuse you?" Princess said, pulling her head back in surprise. "Why would I accuse you of anything? I just keep looking to you when I run out of stuff to say. You're the resident superhero. Forgive me for thinking you'd be a bit more energetic when it came to catching bad guys."

Bubbles stood, chair scraping along a bit as she did so. She leaned over the table and pointed at her exposed, good eye. The lids were slightly puffy, the whites a bit more red than normal. "See this?" she said. "I've lost sleep over this. That's where my energy went."

"Sweetie," Professor interjected, "if you're not ready for this, we'll definitely sit it out. But I, for one, think it may be healthy to ease back into things with a single, slow case like this. And it's not as if you haven't put in late nights before—quite successfully, even."

Bubbles's anger drained away, pulling her lips into a slight frown as it went. "No. I think I'm not ready."

When nobody spoke in the intervening silence, after several seconds Bubbles turned and began plodding out of the kitchen.

Just before she turned the corner, Princess interrupted her. Bubbles put her hand on the door frame and paused, but didn't turn around. Princess said, "Don't tell me you're not interested," she provoked. "You've got every reason in the world to be interested. If not now, then when? Don't tell me you've given up on fighting creeps like this."

After a few moments, Bubbles half turned her head, looking back into the room with her good eye. "I...don't think I should be allowed to anymore." Her mouth hung open as if there were more to say, but no words came. Soon, she closed it and continued retreating to her bedroom. This time, nobody stopped her.

* * *

Half-an-hour later, Princess softly crept up the stairs. She and Professor had agreed to continue sharing notes and voicing ideas, at least for today. While they'd drawn no solid conclusions, they both felt they had a better understanding of the possibilities.

Princess hesitated at Bubbles's door. She knew she wanted to smooth things over between them, but figuring out exactly how to do that was something she hadn't put any thought into until now.

Breathing more heavily, she flexed her fingers, as if she felt they needed a warm-up before knocking. When she did raise her fist, she stopped halfway. After a pause, she slowly lowered her hand to her side again.

She stood there for a while longer, feeling stupid, wondering if Bubbles might even be watching her right now. Curious, she turned her head and moved her ear closer to the door. Nearly, but not quite, touching it.

Hearing nothing inside, she wasn't certain whether to feel better or worse. In any case, she shook her head with some vigor to renew her strength. Evidently, the Morbucks style of business acumen included recognition that, all else being equal, to act was better than to not.

"Who is it?" Bubbles responded to the knock.

"It's Princess," she called back through the door. "I'm on my way out." No response. "I just wanted to know if you were still coming over this weekend? I'm sorry if I upset you, and I hope you'll let me make it up to you. No Harvester talk." Princess waited only few beats for a response before adding, "I'm sure we'll have lots of fun again." Again, there no response. At first.

Princess started when the door opened a crack, Bubbles's head appearing therein. She still seemed worn down, emotionally as much as physically, but even a weak smile was enough to put Princess's heart at ease.

"I'll be there," Bubbles said. Then she slowly blinked her eye and cast her gaze downward. "I'm sorry I snapped at you both."

Princess responded with some hesitation, choosing her words carefully to avoid hinting that she knew too much about Mojo's death, or that she suspected it had more to do with Bubbles's outburst than lost sleep and a sense of helplessness. "It...seems like you have a lot on your mind. Maybe if I could understand what's bothering you, I could try to help."

Bubbles smiled at her weakly again. "Thanks, but all I've got on my mind right now is figuring out what to pack this Friday. I think some fun would be nice. Maybe nicer than talking about...other stuff."

Princess smiled back, trying her best to add some sunshine to their conversation to compensate for Bubbles's gloom. "Maybe we can do both. We'll see. In any case, I think I've got a nice surprise for you."

"Oooo," Bubbles cooed wearily. "That sounds fun. If I feel up to visiting tomorrow too, will I spoil it?"

Princess shook her head, smiling. As their days together piled on, Princess's smiles seemed increasingly natural and genuine. Much less foreign, strange, or forced.

"Great," Bubbles replied. "I'm feeling a little beat now, though. Maybe that meeting wore me out a bit. I'm going to take it easy today, at least."

"Whatever helps. I guess I'll let you be. Let me know if you still have trouble sleeping. I'm pretty sure I've got some PowerPuff-level sedatives stashed away."

Bubbles smile twitched into a brief semblance of a smirk. "I'll...keep that in mind. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Princess said. "Don't hesitate to call if something comes up. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe. Later."

"Later," Bubbles responded, waving her hand through the crack of the door. After Princess disappeared down the stairs, Bubbles once more closed her door.


	20. Drowned Memories

Chapter 20

[Drowned Memories]

Bubbles and Princess sat in the latter's bedroom, wearing pajamas rather than nightgowns. And, for Bubbles, a fresh adhesive eye patch.

The lights were dimmed. The empty space of the large room was filled with an empty silence, marred only by the soft rustling of white, silken bed covers as they were pushed down the beyond-king-sized bed to make room to crawl under.

"Are you sure you're okay with everything?" Princess asked, still sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees. "You still seem...edgy."

Bubbles fluttered her eye and tilted her head. "What do you mean?" she asked, settling into a similar position.

"It's just... Like, when we were playing video games, it's like you were only half there."

"You know I've been...tired." Without missing a beat, Bubbles smirked and countered, "Besides, I still beat you two out of five."

"As if you couldn't have done at least twice that with your reflexes. But I meant to say it's like you just weren't into it."

Again, Bubbles was quick to respond, "I've just never been a huge video game person, that's all. I still had fun. Really."

Princess, apparently, had more on her mind, as she didn't even pause to think before continuing. "Maybe, but when we watched the movie you hardly reacted to anything."

Bubbles opened her mouth again, but Princess powered on, trying to avoid further interruption.

"And when we played board games. Plus when you were in the pool. Even when making our own dinner turned into a food fight. Yeah, you had a _little_ fun for all of those things. Sometimes you seemed like you really enjoyed yourself, but then you'd...snap back! Like you caught yourself having too much fun or something."

Bubbles smiled. "I think you're overreacting. You gave me a great time tonight."

"See?" Princess said. "Even that and your little smirk a minute ago seemed like half a smile. Heck, I wouldn't call that a smile; that's just pulling up your lips. And believe me, I should know, because most of the time that's all I've got in me when I have to put up with people."

Bubbles furrowed her brow ever so slightly and pursed her lips into a small frown. "You're saying I'm just putting up with you?"

Princess shook her head. "No, it's not even that. Whenever you caught yourself having fun you'd start...glancing all around, like you wondered if something happened when you weren't paying attention."

Now Bubbles's expression relaxed, becoming empty as she finally waited for Princess to finish.

"Look, I know it's easy to be on edge right now, with all that's happening, but you've gotta at least relax around me."

Bubbles narrowed her eye so minutely one would miss it if they weren't looking for it. "And why is that?"

"Because—" Princess began, near-to-exasperation, pausing to scoot herself across the bed and sit cross-legged within reach of Bubbles. She put her hands on Bubbles's raised knees and continued. "Because you can trust me. Because I trust you. Because..." Princess paused before taking in a deep breath. She held it for several seconds before releasing it in a sharp, resigned sigh. Turning her gaze downward, away from Bubbles's eye, she finished, "Because I know. I know what you've been going through, and I know it's hard. I...I know," she continued, still unable to look up, barely able to keep her voice from breaking up.

Princess felt as if she'd opened the floodgates to a part of herself she'd mostly ignored. Its desire to be burst free was turning a simple, well-rehearsed confession into an emotional mess. Still, she mostly held her composure. "I know you're dealing with problems inside. I know you're worried about people outside. I know you probably hate yourself because of...of what you did."

After a pause to steel herself, Princess finally looked back up, to see Bubbles staring back with the same cold, detached expression she'd worn before Princess's spiel.

"The team I had investigating Mojo found his body." Seeing no reaction, Princess continued. "We found blood at the scene. One of the lab guys found out it was yours." Hurriedly, Princess continued, clarifying, "But almost nobody knows! Just the lab geek, and me, and my assistant, Ruby. I promise that secret won't ever get out." Smiling shakily, not certain whether this brand of humor would help or hurt, she added, "Not even if I think it might get the Harvester on your side."

After a few tense moments, Bubbles's whole body seemed to droop, letting out the tension that it had apparently held for some time. Her eyelid glided shut as her head tilted forward, exhaling just before she rolled her head all they way back and drew in a deeper breath.

She lowered her head to look Princess in the eye as she exhaled. She smiled again. It seemed tired, but genuine. To Princess, it seemed as if Bubbles had cast off a very troubling weight.

"You're right," Bubbles said in a voice between a lullaby and a whisper. "I hate myself for how that night went." Letting her eye drift over the room as her head swayed gently, she continued. "Just like I hate the Harvester killings and hate the thought that I might lose you."

Once again, her eye rested on Princess as she finished, wearing a weary, resigned smile. "But thanks to you, I have one less unknown to worry about."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for," Princess replied, pausing to sniffle, glad neither of them had broken into tears. Princess wasn't quite certain she was ready for that. Though she remained seated where she was, Princess drew her knees up once again, appreciating the illusion of distance it gave at the moment.

"How well do you trust Ruby and...what's-his-name?" Bubbles asked.

"Ruby? Ruby's got my interests at heart. She'll keep quiet, and she'll keep the lab guy quiet."

"But...what's his name?" Bubbles pressed. "I don't want to have a heart attack every time someone on TV says they know a 'deep, dark secret' about the Utonium family. That happened too often even before everything went to hell."

Princess smiled. "Yeah, I know. The Morbucks have had a few runs in the tabloids. His name is Kevan van der Schmidt. Not that he'd get anywhere near the media before my staff tipped me off."

Bubbles went, "Huh," at that. "Princess, Ruby, and Kevan. Before I knew it, there were three. Honestly...I'm surprised it's not more. I wasn't exactly...good at covering my trail."

Princess shrugged. "I had some cleaners 'disappear' him. If there were anything else to tie you to being there that night in particular, my people would have found it."

Bubbles formed another weak smile. "'Cleaners,' huh? So, do you keep them on standby or just hire them out for parties?"

Princess gladly took the bait for another of the quick, callous retorts that helped her feel at ease. "Honestly, I think it was my dad who put them on retainer originally. Probably thought I'd just snap one day. I guess I must have won them over to my side with my charming, generous personality."

Reflexively, Bubbles let out half a chuckle. But her smile faded around the edges a bit, turning into the "pulled up lips" Princess had complained about earlier.

"So...how long?" Bubbles asked.

"Monday. Not long."

"And this doesn't change anything? You're not worried about me?"

"Change, no. Worried? Of course I'm worried. You killed someone, and on top of everything else you went through that's gotta be hard. You had plenty on your mind already. I don't want _you_ to snap. You've gotta be stronger than that. Just...try to look at it as a character building experience. Like...'experimenting' in college, or something. Everybody rebels against expectations and pushes the boundaries sometimes. At least you did the world a favor by it."

Slowly, Bubbles blinked. "So that's how you feel? That some people just deserve to die?"

"Well, duh. Granted, even I'm not arrogant enough to draw up a list of them or anything, but, yeah, I think _some_ people do."

"Really? How about the Gangreen Gang? How about Danny Prior? How about whoever else the Harvester chooses?"

Princess rolled her eyes. "That's different."

"Is it?"

"Well, for one, the Harvester is a cruel bastard. Even if he were choosing the right people, whoever those are, his methods make it clear he's trying to hurt them. Scare them. Make them suffer a little before he kicks their bucket."

When Princess didn't continue, Bubbles prompted, "And me?"

"Well, you're you. Killing would be your last choice when you ran out of options—_maybe_—but not your default _modus operandi_. And you sure as hell wouldn't be so vicious about it."

"About...?"

"About killing," Princess answered, scrunching her brow and wondering if Bubbles really needed that pointed out.

"Is that so?" Bubbles said, a slight edge to her voice. "So you think at least I'd kill someone 'nicely?' That there's any such thing as 'dying nicely?' Dying hurts. Dying is scary. Dying is vicious. There's no sense pretending it isn't."

Princess had no argument to that. So they sat in silence for some time before Bubbles spoke again.

"Aren't you afraid of dying, too?" Bubbles asked, more softly now.

"I guess," Princess said. "Honestly, I don't really think about it. You just do your best to get through life and take care of yourself and hope it all works out. There's no pile of money big enough to change that."

"Do you ever plan for your death? Think about what things would be like without you?"

Princess shrugged. "I don't really care, I guess. I mean, until you, maybe, I didn't care about anyone enough to care what their life would be like without me. I'd like to be remembered, I guess, but it's not like I'll actually know the difference."

"So you don't believe in an afterlife?"

"Not really. As I understand it, generally speaking, even if there was I pretty much won't give a damn about this life after I leave it. Besides, I give more to charities in a week than most people make in a year. Even if it's just a fraction of my allowance, I figure that's gotta count for something."

"So you'd have no regrets?" Bubbles pressed. "Nothing you'd wished to have done before you died?"

"Well..." Princess's head gestured at the room around them, putting her life on display. "I mean...c'mon. I basically live a life of hedonism. If I want it, I get it."

"You never got to be a PowerPuff Girl," Bubbles pointed out. "That can't be the only thing."

"Well, I'm still just a kid," Princess admitted. "Practically a teenager, but still. There's a ton of stuff I've never done, but none of it's really important. Just...more stuff. After the last couple of weeks, maybe I could say I wished I'd gotten really close to someone. Like, had a boyfriend, all that stuff. Maybe a trophy husband someday. But honestly, even having a lot of fun with you is more than I ever would have expected."

Princess continued in her more dry, playful tone. "Or I could go with the cliche and wish I'd had sex before I died, but that ain't happening any time soon. Although...we are in such a comfy, spacious bed."

Bubbles smirked. "Sorry, this PowerPuff isn't open to girl love."

"Nah, I mean we could, like, get five guys in here. According to the Inquisitor last month, _I did_."

Bubbles let out three soft, neat little chuckles.

In a slight rush, rediscovering her usual cadence, Princess continued. "By the way, if the 'PowerPuff' thing was a double entendre, bonus points for you. If not, forget I said anything and pretend I don't have a dirty mind. Seriously, though, since you bothered to ask me I figure it's on your mind: what would _you_ regret if you died?"

Once again, Bubbles's face softened into a cold, empty expression. It took her a few moments to form a reply. "I regret not rising to the occasion when my sisters died. There are people who think I could. _I_ thought I could. But instead... Instead I've become this."

"'This' isn't that bad. 'This' is something. You can fix 'this.' You've got time. Maybe the Harvester can be your way of showing the world what you're really made of."

"Maybe," Bubbles said softly, sliding onto her side and sinking softly into the pillows.

"'Maybe' nothing," Princess retorted, bouncing and rolling over to her own side of the bed. "You'll beat the Harvester yet. You'll be better than that. Better than him."

Princess made an elaborate gesture of swinging her hand into the air, pinching her thumb and index finger together, then lowering them as if pulling down a cord. Apparently some needlessly fancy gadget recognized the odd gesture and dimmed the lights until only soft moonlight filled the room.

"Oh, and if you even think about cuddling with me, I'm kicking you out. Or inviting five guys to take my place. Whichever's the bigger deterrent."

Bubbles giggled. Princess smiled, since it was the first genuine-sounding laughter she'd heard since they'd called it a night.

Princess heard the soft rustle of covers as Bubbles slid her way over. In a playful voice, Princess said, "Hey, I'm warning you."

Bubbles stopped nearby, propped up on her elbow. "You really are silly, you know that?" She reached out with her other hand to brush aside some of Princess's curly hair. She combed her fingers through it, separating some weak tangles.

Bubbles extracted her hand and stretched to place it on Princess's back, supporting herself as she rolled forward. She kissed Princess on the forehead, then rolled back. "There are worse things in life to worry about."


	21. Loneliness By Your Side

Chapter 21

[Loneliness By Your Side]

A high-pitched, shrill scream resounded throughout the Morbucks mansion in the early dawn. People roused, rushing out of their beds or away from their posts.

After carrying on for some time, the scream abated for a moment. When it continued, it was a more throaty wail, choppy with its periodic sobs.

The door to Princess's room was thrown open as one of the bodyguards entered. Bubbles sat on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest and hugged tightly as she gently rocked back and forth. Once more running out of air, she nearly hyperventilated with her many sharp, whining breaths before continuing her cries.

On the wall across from the foot of the bed, the wallpaper was cut and torn in places, forming rough letters, bloody along some edges. It said, simply, "YOU"

On the bed, lying still, Princess's cold, lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, still wide in panic she no longer felt. Her neck was bloodied, but the deep cut across it was plainly visible. There was a small pool of dry blood around her neck and head, staining the white, silken sheets almost pure red. She'd likely been dead most of the night.

Others began to arrive at the scene soon after, drawn by Bubbles's agonized cries.

* * *

Mister Morbucks himself opened the door when Professor arrived at the mansion. Though there were no visible signs of Morbucks's anguish other than slightly puffy red eyes and nose, he and Processor paused for several seconds to share a meaningful look. Acknowledging a shared pain for which neither had words to describe. They knew the loss of a child, and there was no comfort or assurance either could offer the other.

"This way, please," Morbucks eventually mumbled. "Police wish to question her, but I've persistently played the minor card."

"I appreciate that," Professor said quietly, voice echoing a bit. The mansion was so large, and while it was bustling with activity in some places, most of it—even more than usual—was quiet and lifeless. And so very empty.

Morbucks continued, "I wasn't sure how to say this any other way than in person, but understand that I don't begrudge Bubbles being unable to protect people while she sleeps. There are far..._far_ more suitable targets for my rage."

Professor continued walking quietly.

After a time, Morbucks added, "From what I've been told, your daughter had done wonderful things for mine. I will not forget this. Perhaps with friends like that earlier in life..."

"Mr. Morbucks," Professor began. "Despite the complete futility of doing so, I'll tell you now: there's absolutely no good, for yourself or anyone else, in asking what you could have done differently."

Morbucks's lips twitched into the brief semblance of a smile. "No... No, I suppose that reminder won't do any good at all. But I appreciate the gesture. Just a bit further, please."

Professor heard faint sobbing that grew louder as they rounded another corner.

"It's been like that on and off," Morbucks said. "Whatever she has the steam for, it seems." He stopped and gestured down the the hall. "Third door. Someone will see you out."

"And the police?" Professor asked.

Morbucks shrugged. "It seems my staff 'neglected' to tell you Bubbles was wanted for questioning." After a pause to be sure that sank in, he turned and began walking way. As he rounded the corner, he added, "I should have them look into that oversight."

Professor paused only briefly, eager to rush to his daughter's side, but offering a cold, mental "thank you" to Mr. Morbucks.

The door led to a small break room, likely used by the household staff. It contained a small kitchenette, dining area, and even a couch and television. Bubbles was presently on the couch, lying on her side, curled up. Her head rested on a folded towel, to avoid staining the couch as she cried.

Professor gently closed the door behind him and crouched beside the couch. "I'm here," he said, at a loss for any meaningful words. "It's time to go home, now."

Bubbles promptly sat up and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "Carry me?" she asked in a whisper of a voice made hoarse by mourning.

Professor smiled ever so slightly. Granted, Bubbles was more adult than toddler in stature, but he'd gladly give it his best. He cupped his hands on her underside as he stood, she wrapping her legs around him and adjusting the grip of her arms.

She was heavy, but the front door wasn't terribly far off. He was more worried about descending the stairs in the grand entryway. At least his recent work had gotten him used to handling weights like this.

Bubbles's powers of flight momentarily lightened her load as he freed a hand to open the break room door. On the other side, he was greeted by a woman who, despite her business-like demeanor, had clearly had a hard cry not too long ago.

"I'm Ruby," she greeted. "Please, follow me."

"Thank you," Professor said. He walked beside and just behind Ruby. Bubbles, facing away, never even turned to look at her.

"I understand now is not the best time," Ruby began, "but if you have anything to share about the Harvester investigation that Princess might have been keeping to herself, please contact us at your earliest convenience."

"It was all desperate speculation, really. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. None of us are really used to this sort of...climate."

"I agree there's not really an ideal time, but please share your findings with me at _your_ earliest convenience as well."

Ruby looked behind, to the back of Bubbles's head. "Unfortunately, the room was not under watch. Princess had explicit orders to keep her bodyguards at a distance when she was with Bubbles." She turned her gaze forward again. "She had complete faith in her."

Professor felt Bubbles's grip tighten just a bit.

"She even recently ordered most of her arms stockpile destroyed as a sign of solidarity."

Bubbles's grip tightened even further, almost unbearably so for a brief moment. Professor wished Bubbles's sisters were alive just so she could embrace them with all her might.

"Miss Morbucks seemed truly invested in your daughter, Mr. Utonium. As her...personal assistant, it was both scary and absolutely wonderful to see."

Bubbles began shaking with silent sobs.

"Ms. Ruby?" Professor addressed.

"Just 'Ruby' is fine."

"Ruby, I appreciate hearing these things, but..."

In his silence, Ruby looked back and saw Bubbles's bobbing. A drawn-out snort accentuated her near-silent mourning.

She seemed a little taken aback, pausing in her walk briefly before she turned her gaze ahead once more and resumed. "My apologies."

They remained silent until they reached Professor's car just outside. As Professor wondered how he'd get Bubbles into the car, she slipped out of his arms and popped in on her own. As soon as she'd closed the door she snatched some tissues from between the seats and closed the door.

Professor and Ruby had watched in silence, but before Professor continued to the driver's seat, Ruby stopped him.

"Here's my card. Please, don't hesitate to reach out for any reason. Consider me your first point of contact from now on."

"Thank you, Ruby. I appreciate it. Hopefully...hopefully it won't be much longer before these dark days are behind us all."

Ruby simply nodded curtly in response. Professor returned the gesture and climbed into the car.

As the car rolled out of the drive, Ruby stood and watched. And wondered.

While she appreciated Mr. Morbucks's gesturing and efforts to shield Bubbles, Ruby was like Princess in at least one respect. She favored results, and Bubbles's silence brought none.

Ruby's prodding minutes ago had been a bit inconsiderate. Perhaps even consciously, though whether to urge Bubbles to seek revenge on the Harvester or callously rub salt in her wounds was anyone's guess.

Ruby wished only for clarity enough to tell whether she actually blamed Bubbles for failing to save Princess. Or worse, blamed her for teaching Princess to trust, only to let her down.

Or whether Ruby simply blamed herself.

* * *

"Daddy?" Bubbles asked as they began moving.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Have you ever wanted to kill somebody?"

Professor took some time to think of how best to answer. "There's a big difference between wanting and doing."

"I _hate_ the Harvester," she said plainly, voice venomous, its edge briefly sharpened by the throatiness of her soreness. "The choice between killing and dying..."

"Those aren't your only choices," Professor countered. "You can _choose_ to be better than that."

"No," Bubbles insisted, voice hoarse and phlegmy. She paused to cough. She resumed in a weary, soft voice. "No, it's too late for that. After Princess...it's gone too far."

Professor drove for several minutes before he was able to provide a response. "Some things... Some things you can't take back. Some things change you."

Bubbles said nothing further.


	22. Alternative

Chapter 22

[Alternative]

Professor began spending a lot less time in the basement, focusing instead on the daughter right in front of him. Partly because when they'd returned home, she locked herself in her room and rebuffed his efforts to approach her.

He was worried about losing her. Losing the most important parts of her.

He'd spent the first day arranging therapy for Bubbles and providing some background information on the phone. He didn't see the sense in consulting Bubbles first, because he wasn't making it an option. Not any longer, at least.

That evening, and the day following, he spent mostly in the kitchen and living room, thinking about how to take care of this Harvester situation before things got any worse.

"Supper's ready!" he called up the stairs.

Several minutes later, she still hadn't appeared. She'd been attending meals only reluctantly, with little appetite. But at least she'd been plodding down the stairs and into the kitchen.

After a weary sigh, Professor steeled himself with a stern look and tromped up the stairs. After Blossom, he wasn't going to give Bubbles too much space to withdraw into herself.

He knocked loudly on her door. "It's time for supper," he called.

No response.

Trying to not let his frustration come through in his tone, he said, "Honey, you have to eat _something_. I insist on it." He paused for a few seconds before testing the knob, finding it locked. "Sweetie, please, don't make me unlock this door."

Still nothing.

Sighing again, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a Swiss army knife. The indoor locks didn't use actual keys, but a small flat-head screwdriver through the hole would do the job perfectly.

As he fiddled with the multi-tool and doorknob, he wondered if it would be a good idea to make a trip to the beach after all. The weather was still good enough for it. Maybe seeing other people and getting out of the house would help.

Professor imagined that even if all she did was sit on a towel and pout, she'd draw the attention of nearby children. She tended to be good with kids and might at least put on a brave face for them. Either way, it would probably take her mind off things.

Professor opened the door and looked around the room. Empty. His brow furrowed slightly as he regarded the partially-open window, the breeze flicking the curtain now that the bedroom door was open.

_Well,_ he thought, _at least she's getting _some_ time out of the house._

He'd have a talk with her about that later. For now, he left the door open, wanting Bubbles to know she'd been caught. Back downstairs, he put their soup on a little heat to keep it warm.

While he waited, he finally decided to add Ruby's contact information to his cell phone. He immediately gave it a try, tossing her card in a junk drawer while he waited for her to pick up.

By now he'd formed at least a rough plan. Maybe nothing solid, but better than sitting around and waiting. He didn't know if Ruby could be of any help with it, but he at least wanted to keep her posted. In any case, they probably had _something_ to share about the scene at the mansion by now.

His call went straight to her voice mail.

"Hello, Ruby. This is Professor Utonium. I'd like to talk with you about the Harvester situation when you get a moment. Please call me back at this number. Any time of day is fine. Day or night."

After he hung up, he studied his phone a bit longer, wondering whether it was better to wait for Ruby or get the ball rolling.

In the end, he scrolled through his contacts, coming to rest on an entry in the "S"s that most wouldn't expect him to have.

Though they'd had an...unusual relationship, Sedusa had insisted on giving Professor her number. Time and again, actually, since she seemed to change it a lot. On rare occasion, she even sent a flirty text. He largely ignored her, and while he held no illusions regarding her, he had to admit it was nice sometimes to be reminded that an adult out there somewhere was thinking about him.

A silky-soft voice greeted him as soon as the ringing stopped. "Oh, Professor, what a wonderful surprise! To what do I owe the...pleasure?"

"You've heard of the Harvester, I take it?" he asked bluntly.

There was a lengthy pause. Sedusa asked, more gruffly, "Yeah. What's this about?"

"You know there's a fair chance you'll be targeted at some point. How'd you like to ensure it's on our terms?"

"'Our' terms? Odd way of putting it when _I_ don't know what terms those are, exactly."

"In a nutshell, you'd draw attention to yourself, then you get protection. With any luck—"

"Bait?"

"Excuse me?"

"You want me to be bait?"

"Well...if you put it that way. Yes, I suppose so."

Sedusa laughed. A great, gleeful, cackling laugh. Professor had to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment.

"Darling, I'll admit I'm the best at..._attracting_ one's attention. But from where I'm sitting I think the safer gamble is to sit it out, lay low, and let you goody-goodies handle it. Why, I haven't even _attempted_ a heist in months."

"Princess is dead."

There was a long pause as Sedusa digested this.

"I...hadn't heard."

"Now you have. Still think you're good to sit this one out?"

"I..." After a pause, she let out a short sigh—almost a grunt, really. "Fine. What do you have in mind?"

"First I need to figure out what kind of support we can count on. In the meanwhile, keep doing what you're doing. Try to not draw any attention to yourself. If you have someplace to lay low—"

"Way ahead of you, darling." Professor heard a faint zipper sound in the background. He presumed it was luggage. Hoped it was luggage.

"Great. Give me 'til tomorrow to work out the details. In the meanwhile, if you can think of any ways to draw attention to yourself—"

"Like I said, _way_ ahead of you, Darling. Don't call me. I'll call you."

After the line went dead, Professor drummed his fingers on the table. He decided to give Ruby another call, again going directly to voice mail.

After that, he searched for Ms. Bellum's number. He needed her support—her _acceptance_ of the plan as much as her aid in making it happen. He wished he could get more information from Ruby first, but if he could even just get the idea planted in Sara's head...

Professor looked up from his phone, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye as Bubbles appeared in the kitchen doorway. She wore the same lethargic expression and carried the same drooping stance she had ever since returning from her sleepover.

He smiled softly. Having had time to cool down, it was hard to be harsh with her. "You know, you're allowed to leave this house." He pocketed his phone, delaying the call for now. "At the very least you could leave a note."

Bubbles's eye drifted downward. "I'm sorry," she half-whispered, barely audible over the quiet bubbling of the soup. "I wasn't planning to be gone long."

Professor sighed resignedly as he stood up. As he began to dish out two bowls of soup, he said, "I'll let it slide this time. At least it's better than staying in your room all day. But while we're on the topic of your behavior..."

Here he paused while he set one of the bowls on the table. After a moment, Bubbles meandered over to her chair.

With his back turned again while he filled a bowl for himself, he continued. "I've scheduled some time with a therapist. You've been keeping an awful lot to yourself, and I think we both know that's not healthy."

He turned and took his seat. "Your first session is in a few days. This Thursday."

Bubbles sat still, holding her spoon in her soup. "For how long?"

"I suppose that will be up to the two of you."

"Fine," she said at length, offering no resistance. She lifted the spoon to her mouth and drank the broth from it before returning it to the bowl. After another pause, she repeated this.

Optimism bolstered by how easily she'd taken the news about her therapy, Professor continued. "I also think we should get out of the house together soon. Just to remind ourselves what's out there, whether or not it actually cheers us up. The crowds at south beach tend to thin out a little around this time of year."

"Whatever you say," Bubbles said.

After downing a few spoonfuls of his own soup, Professor noted, "You really should do more than drink the broth. I think you're starting to lose weight—maybe more than is healthy for a growing girl."

"Growing into what, exactly?" Bubbles asked, adding an edge to her lethargic tone.

Professor deflected the question. "Things _will_ get better."

With a more energetic, albeit annoyed tone, she asked, "When?"

"Soon."

"_Soon?_ How soon? What if it's too late by then? Or too late now?"

"Too late for what?"

"For things to go back to the way they were. For any of us. I'm not sure I even care about protecting this stupid world any more."

"If that's how you feel. Nobody has any right to obligate you."

"So, what, I just 'take my time?' Wait until I'm 'ready again?' Until I snap out of it? What if that doesn't happen?"

"Then you'll find some other way to live your life. Something else to care about and work for."

Bubbles set her spoon in her bowl, which could still pass for completely untouched. "I'm done," she said, returning to her completely lethargic tone.

"One more—a _full_ one—and you can go back up."

"I'm fine," Bubbles insisted softly.

"One."

Professor waited. Eventually Bubbles sighed and, if it were possible, drooped further. It seemed a genuine effort to down a whole bite, as if her throat were almost too tight to accept a few mushy peas and potatoes.

"Good girl," Professor said, almost as if praising a puppy. "There's plenty of leftovers in the fridge and food in the cupboards if you get hungry."

"Okay. Can I go now?"

"Yes, you can go."

Professor finished his meal in the empty room, wondering if this loneliness is what it had been like for Bubbles when he'd toiled away in his lab.

After rinsing out his bowl, he went downstairs to have a private conversation with Ms. Bellum.


	23. Surface Tension

Chapter 23

[Surface Tension]

Professor awoke to a shrill, ear-piercing beeping. Even as his body reflexively stirred from his chair in the basement—where he'd apparently fallen asleep despite himself—his groggy mind began to recognize it as a fire alarm.

Slipping out of the lab's inner chamber, he carefully closed the door behind him before darting up the stairs.

He'd left the soup on, and even on low heat it was starting to dry out and char the vegetables.

Pulling his hand into his sleeve, his lab coat gave him just enough protection as he slid the pot off the burner. He turned off the stove and searched in the dim light for a broom propped in the corner. Pushing a button on the fire alarm, he silenced it.

The adrenaline surge having mostly driven away his slumber, he flipped on the lights and looked for a pair of oven mitts. Setting the soup pot in the sink, he ran some water into it to cover the contents and let it soak.

Leaning against the counter, he took a breath to steady himself.

Then he wondered where Bubbles was.

The smoke alarms were interconnected. Until he'd shut them off, the ones upstairs were blaring as well as the ones in the kitchen and lab. It would be unusual for anyone to sleep through one in their bedroom. It was surprising for Bubbles to not come downstairs and check on things, even given her attitude of late.

He did not knock. Her door was locked. Quietly, he unlocked it. Once again, he found the room empty.

This time, he re-locked and closed the door behind him. Rather than wait up for her, he decided to speak with her in the morning and, for now, try to get some sleep himself.

* * *

Bubbles flew into her bedroom in the minutes before dawn found the edges of the sky. Her nightgown was slightly damp, as it had been last time she'd gone cloud-riding.

Closing the window behind her, she walked over to her mirror again. Placing one hand against the wall, she almost did feel the need to steady herself. As little nourishment as she'd taken the last several days, she honestly did _feel_ a bit weak, despite still having strength enough to stop a train. Perhaps it was more an issue of motivation than biology.

For days now, her stomach felt uncomfortably tight. Her mouth dry and sticky. A few times here and there she found herself nodding off, but she still missed more sleep than she caught. Mostly, though, she felt numb.

"I'm still here," she said to her reflection. "So why can't I see myself?"

Leaning in closer, staring into her dead eye, she whispered, "Why can't I see myself anymore?"

Slowly, she raised her finger to her eye. Gently, she prodded its side. It was uncomfortable, but not particularly painful. Her fingertip felt rough and dry. She resisted the urge to blink.

"Why can't I see you?"

Her finger hovered over the front of her eye now. If she were able to see, she'd have watched that fingertip loom closer. Probably would have reflexively pulled away. But now? Nothing.

"Why?" she said as her finger made contact.

"Why?" she repeated, more frustration seeping into her tone. "Why, why, why, why, why?"

She pressed ever more firmly on her eye, stopping both the pressure and her litany when the pain became too great and stars rippled through her vision.

Sucking in air through her teeth, she cupped her hand over her eye, instinctively protecting it, but no longer touching it. Weariness and pain began to overtake her, and she sank to the floor, knees landing with a thud.

She lost her sense of time, drifted along the edge of sleep. The sound of her door opening startled her. Had she forgotten to lock it? Had she not heard him unlock it?

Professor stood in the doorway, wearing his pajamas. She looked up at him plaintively, seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "I heard a noise."

"Ha ha," Bubbles almost giggled. She smiled an open-mouthed, toothy smile. "It's all sunshine and rainbows in here. Ha ha," she laughed again.

"You're practically soaked," Professor said, noting the odd way her gown clung to her skin. "You look awful. Did you get any sleep tonight?"

"Almost, but I woke up every time I started to fall."

"Bubbles," Professor said, voice full of softness and pity. "Here. Let's get you into bed."

He reached down and pinched the shoulders of her wet nightgown, starting to pull it off.

"Don't touch me!" Bubbles half-screamed, half-shrieked. She pushed Professor away with enough force he stumbled backwards across the room, trying to hold his footing, until he bumped against the wall.

Bubbles continued kneeling, now wrapping her arms around herself, seemingly ready to cry but not crying.

"Bubbles," Professor said as he pushed himself away from the wall, slowly working his way back to her. "Bubbles, I would _never_ hurt you. Never."

"You can't get close to me," she insisted, shaking her head for emphasis. "It's not safe. It's not safe."

"Bubbles, you're half-delirious. Please—please!—come to bed."

She looked up as he approached. "Why? Every time I close my eyes I see their faces. Every time. And you know what?" She paused for a moment before pointing to her milky eye. "_This_ one's always closed. Always showing me faces."

"Sweetie, I don't care if you undress or not, but please just lie down."

"Ha ha," Bubbles once more laughed her strange little laugh. "Do you really think that's the problem, here?"

Suddenly she was standing, her nose pressed to his. Professor would have jerked back if her hand wasn't holding his head in place. Bubbles spoke in a low, throaty whisper. "I'm not worried about that. But I know it happens. I know _everything_ that happens. People..._hurt_ people. Everyone _hurts_ everyone." With the second "hurt," Bubbles briefly pulled his nose even harder into hers. Painfully so. "They hurt the ones close to them the most. All my life I've protected strangers from strangers. Why wasn't I protecting friends from friends? Family from family? Who cares about the super villains when the normal ones do what they do? Every. Single. Day."

Bubbles loosed her grip. Professor backed away immediately. Bubbles's hand slid down his front as she again dropped to her knees with another thud.

"At the moment, I could hardly care less about any of that," Professor said firmly. "And it's my choice to be with you right now," he added, resting a hand on Bubbles's shoulder, "and to do whatever I can."

Without looking up, Bubbles asked a question. He could hear a wellspring of tears on the other side of that voice, so thin and high-pitched she almost sounded like a little kid again. "Tuck me in?"

Giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, he said, "Of course."

Still staring at the floor, Bubbles reached her arms up as if grasping at something invisible. Professor crouched down and picked her up, carrying her the short distance to her bed with its ruffled covers. Bubbles scooted to the middle after she let him go.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word," he sang softly as he started tucking bed covers under the mattress. Dawn's light was beginning to spread over the windows as Professor worked his way along the bed.

"Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring." Now at the foot of the bed, he switched from one corner to the next. "And if that diamond ring don't shine," at this point he couldn't remember how the song went, so did his best to improvise. "Papa's gonna buy you a a dress so fine. And if that fine dress goes out of style, papa's gonna...have to think for a while. And if papa's thinking turns up naught, papa's gonna be awfully distraught."

Fortunately, he'd run out of covers to tuck. Bubbles giggled—actually giggled.

Sleepily, eyes closed, Bubbles said, "You're terrible at those. You know that?"

"You don't have to be perfect to do some good. Please, just sleep now."

"Good night, daddy," she sighed.

Professor looked at the growing light outside. "Good night, sweetie."


	24. Triptych

Chapter 24

[Triptych]

Though Bubbles seemed to mellow out after sleeping until noon—back to her recent extremes of mellowness, no less—Professor Utonium was still grateful that he'd managed to advance her first therapy session to later that evening, even if that meant it took place off hours.

Shortly after making those arrangements, Ms. Bellum returned his call from the previous night, seeking to arrange an in-person meeting. While Bubbles sat in her first session, Professor slipped out to attend his meeting.

He didn't have to go far. Ms. Bellum had suggested a small dinette just a few blocks over from the psychologist's office. She was already sitting in a corner booth, nursing a steaming drink.

"I ordered for you," Ms. Bellum noted. "They'll bring you a fresh coffee in a moment."

"Thanks for taking the time to meet. Is there any particular reason this couldn't be handled over the phone?"

"Just one. Her. It's probably best that we not worry her with too many details right now."

Professor tried and failed to smile. "Up until last night, I thought getting her involved was the better choice. Now... Now I'm... Sara...Bubbles seems to be much more distraught than I'd have ever guessed. Maybe losing Princess made things worse, but it's clear to me now that she's not in any condition to be part of this investigation."

She nodded in agreement. Sara had no idea what had happened last night, but she'd already decided for herself that this was the best choice. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'll spare you the details. Maybe later."

"In any case, I apologize again for making Bubbles play messenger for me. I should have tried harder to get in touch with you about the Harvester directly."

Professor hand-waved it away. At the same time, a waitress delivered his coffee. He took a sip before speaking to Ms. Bellum. "That's fine, really. After I started working with Princess, it completely slipped my mind to contact _you_. These are difficult times for all of us."

"I know. And for that reason I was able to get some help. E-Male's in top form again, and more than willing to help out. He's fast enough that he should be able to get Sedusa out of harm's way, if it comes to that."

"Great choice. And great timing. I tried to give her an update after we spoke last night, but I never got an answer. She did say she'd be in touch, so...I guess now we wait. Unless you think I should try contacting Ruby again."

"About that... I already had someone checking into things at the Morbucks mansion. Ruby's...gone."

"She was...let go?" Professor asked. If she was Princess's aide, it made sense enough.

"She passed, actually. Car accident. Collided with a telephone pole on her way home. Seems she was in the middle of typing a message. Do that and drive often enough, it's bound to catch up with you eventually, I guess."

"That's...terrible. I'm sorry to hear that."

"You think that's bad? Harvester attacks seems to have gone _way_ up since Princess's murder. More confident after that stunt, maybe. I'm not sure. But there have been eleven incidents in the last few days that are suspected to be related. A total of seventeen victims, almost all normal people. It's too early to say for sure none of them are copycats, but it would be unusual for them _all_ to be."

"You didn't mention that before."

"It took a while for it to reach my desk. Police are trying to keep panic and the media out of the picture, since the two tend to go hand-in-hand. Unfortunately, someone thought it would be a good idea to try to keep _me_ out of the loop. So I find out this morning, when the rest of the city hears it in news teasers because the press caught wind anyway." She paused to take another drink. "Not that I'm _upset_ about how this was handled or anything."

"Obviously," Professor replied, smirking. "Let's hope Sedusa gets in touch soon, then. How should I contact you when she does?"

"For now? Don't. Give her my number and let her fill me in. I can work out the details with her and E-Male as well."

Professor scrunched his brow for a moment. "Why do I get the feeling you're trying to keep _me_ out of this, too?"

"Because I am. Really, you shouldn't be needed at this point. I think your plan gives us a solid foundation, and even if I'll have to keep some things off the books, I can to my part to help pull it off. You should be focusing on personal matters."

"This is personal," Professor replied coldly.

"All the more reason. Professor, please..." Ms. Bellum gripped Professor's free hand in both of hers. "Don't lose sight of what's most important right now. Something only _you_ can do."

Professor's resistance seeped out of him. Sara's arguments had a way of doing that sometimes. "All right. I'll put my trust in you. It's probably best that I don't put myself at further risk, anyway. I'd hate to imagine..."

"Don't we all."

* * *

Their meeting ended shortly after, giving Professor ample time to return and wait for the end of Bubbles's therapy session. She didn't seem any different coming out than going in, but he wasn't expecting miracles. In any case, he'd have had a hard time convincing himself any kind of cheerful attitude were genuine at this point.

"How'd everything go?" Professor asked, mostly addressing Bubbles, although her therapist was the one who offered a response.

"Very well, I think. If possible, I think we should continue with the originally-scheduled session as well. We can continue with weekly sessions thereafter, for as long as everyone feels comfortable with that."

"Thank you, Doctor. We'll come by on Thursday, then."

"I look forward to it. How about you, Bubbles?"

She shrugged. "That's fine."

"Good, good. Well, you two have a nice evening. I'll start closing up shop for the night."

Professor offered, "You, too. And thank you again for the short-notice session."

"Don't worry about it."

With a final wave, Professor walked Bubbles out to the car. Inside, he asked again, "So, how'd it go?"

"It went all right," Bubbles replied, propping her chin on her hand and staring out the window as they drove off.

When she didn't elaborate, Professor prompted, "That's good. What kind of stuff did you talk about?"

"Blossom and Buttercup, mostly. What things were like when they were still around."

"That sounds wonderful. I think it'd be awful to forget about all the good times just because we miss them."

"When's my next eye appointment?" Bubbles asked.

"Friday. The day after your next session."

"'Kay," she replied.

With Professor not wanting to press her too hard right after an hour-long therapy session, they finished the drive home in silence.

* * *

Professor started when his phone began vibrating, backing away from what seemed like a microscope lens sticking out of a black metal cube.

The number was from an unknown caller. He answered.

"Hello, darling," Sedusa greeted. "I have the most delicious idea for stealing the spotlight."

"That's good news. First, though, let me give you Ms. Bellum's number."

There was a heavy pause. "Oh. I see. Some pretty little tramp in heels wrapped you around her finger again?"

"I can't afford to get any more involved. For Bubbles's sake. Sara's gotten E-Male to agree to be your protection. You can work out the other details without me, I'm sure."

"What a pity... Women just aren't _nearly_ as fun, you know."

"I also hear the attacks have stepped up. Watch yourselves."

"Darling! I didn't know you cared."

"I have Sara's number if you're ready."

"Fine," Sedusa replied gruffly. "What is it?"

Professor recited it. "Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Just one thing, dear," she responded pleasantly. "I think I'll keep you informed anyway. In case you change your mind and want to...assert your manhood."

"The only thing I plan to assert is my fatherhood."

"Ooo! That sounds positively _naughty_."

"Good night, Sedusa."

"Ta-ta, darling." Gruffly, she added. "Careful not to step on your balls. _If_ you ever manage to find them, that is. They _did_ drop, didn't they?"

"Good night, Sedusa," Professor repeated, hanging up. Upset or not, she'd accept that E-Male would be a far better guardian than Professor himself. Ultimately, she was calculating enough to stay involved just for sake of said protection.

For now, Professor tried to put the whole mess out of mind.


	25. The Art of Dying

Chapter 25

[The Art of Dying]

Professor glanced out into the living room as he scrambled some eggs. He'd muted the television, unable to hear it anyway, and not wanting to risk waking Bubbles.

The rest of the week had gone smoothly. Bubbles made both of her appointments, and while there seemed to be no outward changes in Bubbles's demeanor, at least Professor felt confident she wasn't slipping out at night. He'd asked her to not lock her door, and (as with all the other recent inconveniences) she'd offered no resistance. Professor started checking on her once a night, and was always glad to spy her sleeping form in the dim glow of the streetlights.

Unfortunately, the Harvester attacks seemed to have kept up their pace. Professor tried to stay away from everything, but Sedusa kept texting him updates. Despite himself, he glimpsed a few words and phrases here and there before dismissing them. The details of her plans weren't solid in his mind, but late last night she'd sent him an address and the word, "Soon."

However, he saw no harm in exposing himself to a little _public_ knowledge, even if he wanted to stay out of their private plans. So he watched a local newscast while he cooked, trying to make out the headlines and ticker text from the kitchen, wondering if there was any talk of Sedusa.

Boy, was there. Since he hadn't been keeping up with anything until now, he wasn't sure whether this was a recent or development or ongoing, nor was he clear what the fuss was about, but whatever was going on they managed to keep talking about her the entire time he cooked.

He diverted his attention from the broadcast to crack another pair of eggs into the pan, scrambling them with the turner as he went. When he glanced back up, he noticed the mute indicator was gone.

Setting the utensil aside, he poked his head into the living room. Bubbles was standing behind the couch, remote in hand, watching the broadcast.

"Oh, hi! Good morning, honey. Breakfast is almost done."

Bubbles slowly turned to face him, still bleary-eyed and blinking slowly. She pointed the remote at the TV and shut it off.

Relieved, Professor turned back to the eggs before they overcooked.

Bubbles sat at the table, staring off into the distance, as Professor finished making the second plate. He handed it to her, accepting first for himself.

"I'm impressed," Professor said, beaming, trying to inject some extra joviality to make up for Bubbles's attitude. "It's good to see you up on your own so early. Sleeping better?"

"I've been napping a little here and there during the day," she replied. "It seems to help make up for the nights."

"Nightmares?"

"Kind of," she replied as she began to eat. Her appetite had seemed to improve somewhat as well, though he would still be surprised to see her finish her plate right now.

"So, I'm thinking of making it official," Professor started. "That whole beach trip idea. I'm thinking Monday wouldn't be too crowded. How's that sound?"

Before replying, Bubbles continued to slowly chew and swallow the food already in her mouth. She still seemed distant, like her attention was focused elsewhere, but apparently she was following the conversation. "Sounds okay, I guess. How long?"

"I dunno. A few hours, maybe? We'll play it by ear. What do you think we should pack for a lunch? PB-and-Js?"

"Could we pack the stuff and make them there? I hate when the jelly makes the bread all soggy."

"Well, it _is_ a little gross. But you know what I like with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

Bubbles raised a forkful of food to her mouth again. She seemed to nurse it, going slower than last time. Almost unreasonably slowly. Her eyes stared at the corner in the ceiling, unfocused. Unless she was trying really hard to think of an answer, it seemed she'd briefly checked out of the conversation.

Eventually, she swallowed and replied, "What's that?"

"Apple juice. I can't remember the last time I drank any."

"Do we have suntan lotion?" Bubbles asked.

"I'll check, but thanks for reminding me."

Bubbles made it about halfway through her plate before she stood up. "Thanks for breakfast, daddy," she said weakly.

"Going upstairs?"

"Yeah."

"Are you finding stuff to do like the doctor suggested?"

"The shrink? Yeah," she replied. She continued speaking as she meandered towards the exit. "I remembered I've got a summer book report or something. I'm going to grab a book from Blossom's room to read."

"Sounds like... Well, if you're _me_, sounds like fun."

Bubbles stopped just inside the living room for several seconds. Finally, she turned around. "We should at least clean up their rooms sometime. It'd be wrong for spiders and bugs to move in before we've even moved _them_ out."

Professor considered this. It was something they'd wanted to do together... Maybe with all this Harvester stuff distracting them, it'd be easier.

No...not the Harvester. Not so much, at least. It was more the influence of Princess's death. Although Blossom, or even Buttercup hadn't passed all that long ago, this new loss made theirs seem that much more distant.

"I think that's a good idea. Why don't we plan on doing that tomorrow, then?" After a pause, he added, "Just to tidy up, though, right? Not to box up?"

Bubbles shrugged. "May as well, while we're in there."

"I'm not sure we have enough boxes, though... Maybe I'll put word out to my university buddies to scrounge some up?"

Bubbles shrugged again. "Whatever you say."

At the moment, Professor really wanted to speak to Bubbles regarding her demeanor. But what was he supposed to say? "Show a little enthusiasm." "Cheer up." "Offer some resistance—you're practically a teenager, for goodness' sake!"

Seeing her father had nothing further to say, Bubbles continued her trek through the living room, leaving his sight.

After finishing his plate, Professor grabbed Bubbles's and polished that off as well.

If Bubbles was going to spend her time reading, and with nothing else special planned for the day, Professor thought maybe it would be a good time to get back into his projects. After he cleaned up the kitchen, he made his way downstairs to do just that.

Partway down, he received another text. As expected, it was Sedusa, but he still had to make sure it wasn't someone more important. Maybe he should give her texts a different sound. He was pretty sure his phone could do that.

"This is it," the text began. Professor couldn't help but skim the rest, since it was so short. "Just a waiting game, now."

_Good for them,_ Professor thought, pocketing his phone.

* * *

Before he knew it, it was past nine in the evening. At first, Professor sat back and stretched with satisfaction at a productive day's work.

Then he sat up straight and checked the time again. Suddenly he felt more neglectful than proud.

He quickly threw off his gloves and plastic face shield, barging out of his inner lab and bounding up the stairs. Of course, there was nothing to be panicked about, but he'd skipped lunch. And dinner. For all he knew, so did Bubbles. She'd taken care of herself well enough in the past, but given her current state would she have even bothered?

He knocked on her door.

"Come in," she called back.

Professor poked just his head in. "Sorry, sweetie, daddy got carried away again. Have you eaten?"

Bubbles sat at her desk with a school notebook. She twisted back to look at him. "Leftovers."

"Ah...yeah, I guess we did build up a bunch. I guess I'll have some, too. Are you hungry now?"

She shook her head as she turned back around. "Just ate," she added as she wrote something else in her notebook.

"Okay. Sorry again, sweetie."

"'s okay," she replied.

"Well...have a good night," he said. "In case I don't see you."

Bubbles put her pen down and slid out of her chair. She strode the few steps over to the door and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, daddy."

It was odd to hear those sweet words in her tired monotone, but Professor appreciated the gesture, even if she immediately returned to her work. "Good night, sweetheart."

Professor paused a few moments to watch her at her desk, thinking that maybe she was finally starting to work herself out of her lull. Or at least going through the motions, which was a good start.

He closed the door and checked the fridge. It seemed Bubbles had gone for the soup, so he warmed a plate of spaghetti instead.

He sat in the living room, turning the TV on with low volume. Not that Bubbles couldn't hear it better than him if she tried—she could probably hear televisions all over the city, for that matter—but he hoped she wouldn't even notice.

"—lack of police response?" someone asked. Seems they were rebroadcasting an earlier press conference on the evening news.

A police captain at the podium responded, "Legally, we're not able to take action at the moment."

A different reporter asked, "But isn't there strong reason to believe that Sedusa is holed up inside?"

"There is some suspicion, yes, but solving a riddle doesn't exactly give us due cause for a search. All I can say is that we're giving the matter all due consideration and that, if we feel it is appropriate, we will be—and perhaps already are—working on approving a search warrant."

Yet another reporter asked, "But this 'riddle' was independently solved by a multitude of people and plastered over the Internet within an hour of Sedusa's message. Assuming she really is lying low at this particular warehouse, isn't this delay basically giving her a chance to escape if she realizes she basically put up a big neon sign pointing at her?"

"That would be an unfortunate turn of events, I'll admit, but unlike the vigilantes, we members of the police force are legally and duty bound to adhere to certain procedures. Regardless, I can say that I believe effective measures have been taken, and do not believe these delays—"

The captain was cut off at this point as a newsflash interrupted the replay.

"Breaking news," the anchor explained. "Earlier today, police gained entry to the parkside lair of Mojo Jojo, who has not made a public appearance since the Harvester murders began. We are receiving reports that Mojo was not found on the premises. While there are no signs of a struggle, sources say there are other signs of a sudden, unexpected departure."

Ultimately, they had nothing else of interest to offer. At least not in the way of hard evidence or useful facts. They did manage to play it up a bit, but in the end all anyone knew was that Mojo hadn't been seen in a while and apparently hadn't been home in that time.

After a while, Professor dozed off.


	26. Haunted - Unknown Floor

Chapter 26

[Haunted - Unknown Floor]

Professor jolted awake, vaguely aware of being in a strange place. Indeed, he was still on the living room couch. With a yawn and a stretch, joints popping, he sat up and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was half-past midnight.

Yawning again as he stood, he hoped napping right before bed wouldn't spoil his sleep.

Then he remembered the broadcast. Would the Harvester take the bait tonight? Should he hope that he did, or that he didn't?

Those thoughts lingered with him as he crept upstairs, and by the time he mounted the second floor he was aiming for Bubbles's bedroom rather than his own.

Her door squeaked softly as it swung open. Professor poked his head in the room, smiling at Bubbles. Or at least as much of her outline as he was ever able to make out from the door in this light.

With his anxiety over the Harvester business, Professor wanted to see her peaceful, sleeping face and try to forget everything that was happening in the world outside. For once, Professor carefully crept into her room to steal a closer look. For just this one moment, to be a normal father of a normal little girl.

Her covers were drawn over her head. But she seemed...somehow...

Professor gripped the edge of the covers and slowly pulled them back. He saw her pillow first. Then...

With a whoofle, he yanked the covers down. There was nothing but pillows and clothes.

Of course... She had seen the broadcast that morning. Just because she shut off _their_ TV didn't mean she wasn't listening _somewhere_. Just because she'd seemed too worn out to care about anything didn't mean she'd stopped caring about _everything_. She'd seemed so distracted at breakfast... For that matter, had the entire day unsupervised to dig deeper. She could easily know more then Professor by now.

His eyes darted around the room, his lethargy fading. Her cell phone remained on the nightstand. He strode over to the windows, confirming what he already suspected—that one window had been left open just a crack.

A moment later, Professor was thundering down the stairs. He wanted to call Ms. Bellum, someone, but worried that might distract them at a critical time. We wasn't certain who was or wasn't involved in this plan, or how.

As he peeled out of the garage, he wondered what he could even accomplish. Wasn't Bubbles in the better position here? He hadn't even packed any special equipment. Nor was this a tricked out supercar that turned into a giant robot. Anymore. He just didn't have endless time to hide giant robots and death rays in mundane things for the fun of it.

As he drove, really testing the limits of the law and good driving habits, he began to think more rationally. Bubbles might just be taking a glide through a cool breeze.

At 12:45 in the morning.

Okay, so probably not that. Maybe. But even if she was at the warehouse, what could Professor do to help? Bubbles was probably more than enough for this. Like Princess had said during their earlier meetings, people of Bubbles's level of power didn't just pop up all the time. Based on what they knew so far, the odds of this Harvester character being a threat to her were virtually nil.

So what was his panic?

Of course. That made much more sense. Bubbles had been pushed so far. She'd been some mixture of afraid and uncomfortable with the idea of going after the Harvester, and now he thought she was actually going to do it anyway.

Professor felt a sinking feeling in his gut when he realized he might be less worried about her safety, and more worried about what she might do to the Harvester in this state.

Fortunately, the streets were virtually empty. The drive to the address Sedusa had given was only twenty minutes, but that just meant he was _at least_ twenty minutes behind.

He turned off his headlights as he pulled into the winding lots around the warehouses. If there were police watching outside, they weren't obvious, but he didn't want to distract anyone inside the grounds. Occasionally he turned on his parking lights, using their dim glow to help him maneuver around corners. Eventually he spotted a blue flicker through some high windows.

He stopped the car and hopped out, seeing the flash again. Beside him was a flight of metal stairs leading to a door at the level of the windows. There didn't seem to be any ground-level entrances or windows where he stood.

He caught his foot on the way up, nearly tripping, before he forced himself to slow down just a little. He peered in through the grimy windows into the darkness below. Whatever was happening seemed...electrical. E-Male, probably. But...if it was, shouldn't this be over already?

Professor's stomach tightened as his heart seemed to strain to beat. He tried the door, finding it unlocked. He crept inside, walking along metal grating that formed a second floor catwalk. Although, given their height above of the ground floor, it was really somewhere between a third or fourth floor catwalk.

In the day, it a safe place to walk while forklifts and heavy things moved about below. Now, it was a safe place to spectate. Professor peeked around a large stack of small boxes.

E-Male was definitely busy down below, turning to and fro, spewing arcs and sheets of lightning. Professor spied a dark, spry form darting around. The strobelight-like effect of the flashes made it difficult to keep up, but he thought he saw the gleam of a sickle.

His breath caught. He had to remind himself to start breathing again.

_She's not here_, he thought, relieved and terrified.

Spying movement on the catwalks out of the corner of his eye, Professor watched as, during one of the flashes, Sedusa's flowing hair was briefly illuminated. She stood on an area of catwalk bridging the two halves of the building, whereas Professor lingered along the outer walls.

Professor moved to hide behind a shelf full of white boxes. Office paper, apparently. Sedusa didn't seem to notice him.

He looked down below. E-Male was now suffused with a bright blue glow that was hard to look at. Briefly, the lights in the building flickered on halfheartedly. For a brief span, Professor saw the Harvester. It was a sight both terrifying and ridiculous. A big burlap sack was pulled over his head, bare, spindly arms sticking out through holes in the side. A second sack was tied around his waist with a rope, like an odd sort of skirt. And beneath that, plain white socks and a pair of geta—wooden sandals with a pair of blocky "teeth" that elevated them about two inches from the ground.

The lights went off again when arcs of electricity shot from E-Male in all directions. Professor braced himself as they licked the catwalk, but they seemed to do him no harm. He glanced over to Sedusa, who recoiled in surprise, but also seemed uninjured.

It only lasted a few moments, taking longer for Professor's eyes to readjust to the dimness after that bright display.

"Did you get him?" Sedusa called out.

Slowly, E-Male started to glow again, but it made him stand out more than illuminate the area. "Must have. Hold on," he replied tersely. He held his palm out, and it shed a beam like a flashlight. He pointed it at one area for a while, though it was out of Professor's sight. Then he started sweeping it around. "Don't see him," E-Male informed.

"Then look, you imbecile!"

"What you think I doing? Why you no go do useful and turn on lights?"

"Why don't you flash over and turn them on."

"Why you no shut up? Beside, he move like—"

Professor heard the sound. It wasn't one he was familiar with. Something between ripping open an orange and closing scissors over empty air. Professor could almost see the source of it. A flicker of black against E-Male's soft blue.

Once from behind. Another from the side. Finally, as E-Male started to spin, the Harvester tumbled into view and made a final slice with his sickle from the front. E-Male's glow faded as he dropped to his knees, then to the floor.

Sedusa uttered a profanity and turned to run right towards Professor, to the exit behind him.

The Harvester appeared between them, as though he'd jumped from the ground. Sedusa's gasp reminded him to restrain his own, clasping his hand over his mouth. The Harvester stood on the railing, the bar between the teeth of his geta. His balance seemed remarkable.

In one hand he held his sickle, dark in the blood and moonlight. In the other, chains clinked.

Sedusa's hair shot forward, but the Harvester was quicker. Had to be a quick one, if E-Male was...

_What am I doing?_ Professor asked. _I need to leave!_

But he couldn't. The Harvester was as close to him as he was to Sedusa. He'd make noise. Be chased. His car would make noise starting up. What could he do?

Before Sedusa's hair reached her adversary, the Harvester flung the chain around her neck. It made a wide arc, almost hitting the Harvester on its first spin back. As it made its second round, he grabbed the tail in the same hand that was holding the rest of the chain.

Professor carefully reached into his jacket. There was one thing he kept on him for emergencies. It wouldn't do much good here, but it might serve as a distraction. Worst case.

The Harvester yanked the chain, sending Sedusa off balance and making her hair snakes miss their target. She landed on the catwalk beside the Harvester, but remained there only a moment before the Harvester pulled the chain again, bringing Sedusa roughly to her feet.

Professor fumbled with a setting on the device, setting it to spray a solid jet at a distance rather than a small cloud. He'd have one shot. It'd sting the eyes a bit, if he hit his mark. Anything less...

The Harvester adjusted his grip on the chain and pulled up again. Sedusa soared into the air over his head, going nearly upside down before beginning her descent. She swung in a wide arc, screaming in fear and confusion. In the darkness, the physical sensations probably told her more about what was happening than her eyes.

Professor raised it up, trying and failing to hold his hand steady.

The chain bent underneath the catwalk as Sedusa continued her swing. Finally, she reached its end. A crack resounded in the quiet warehouse, and her screaming stopped.

The chains rattled through the Harvester's hand as he let go. Shortly after, a loud thud and muffled crunch signaled Sedusa's landing.

"Raaagh!" Professor screamed, mind unable to form real words. The Harvester's head jerked in his direction, and Professor squeezed. A small jet of dark liquid erupted from the end of the small thing in his hand. It looked like it could have been a breath spray. A little antidote X dispenser he kept handy, just in case. He'd used it once before, to sedate Buttercup for amateur, emergency brain surgery.

The Harvester seemed surprised, failing even to put his hands up to shield his face from the spray. With any luck, some would get in his eyes. It may not be what it was designed for, but it was something.

Professor turned around, ready to bolt for the door and hope for the best. He stopped when he heard a shrill, high-pitched scream from behind.

"Help!"

His head spun around. The Harvester's perch on the rail became unsteady. He—she bent at odd angles, trying to not fall, or at least to not fall backwards off the catwalks.

"No," Professor breathed.

"No!" came another shrill cry as she lost her footing. Professor ran forward, reaching out and trying to grab any part of her. All his fingers found was the sack over her head. It only briefly halted her descent before her arms slipped out.

Professor watched helplessly as Bubbles's face disappeared into the darkness below.


	27. In the Dark

Chapter 27

[In the Dark]

An hour after their supper and good-nights, when the sky had long grown dark, Bubbles flew into the night. Her solo expedition left the Professor behind in their now-too-large home. Unlike her unexpected visit to Mojo the other day, this time her expedition was planned. She still wore the same jeans and shirt she'd worn to the hospital for her visit to the children's ward.

It felt like forever ago since she last flown this way, but even in the dark she had no difficulty finding Fuzzy's home, nestled in the woodland hills outside the city.

The sound of wildlife was almost deafening to her ears, accustomed to the quiet sounds of suburbia. She peered inside to see Fuzzy stoking the fires of a wood stove, preparing to have a late supper. Some of the remains of a small rabbit were piled on a nearby stone counter top, the rest were boiling in the stove pot.

Bubbles didn't fault him for this. It was different, certainly, but if this was how Fuzzy put food on the table—if this was the only harm he ever caused others!—she wouldn't complain.

Unfortunately, he was more dangerous than that. Which was why she'd decided to try something different after all, and put a little fear in him for a change.

Bubbles glided to the ground beside the cabin, only then realizing that maybe the direct approach wasn't the best. Threatening Fuzzy openly might only invite retaliation. Leaving him a face, a name, a person to strike back at might cause him to overlook tonight's lesson in his anger.

Not to mention she'd probably get herself or even her father in trouble if other people caught wind of it.

Her eye darted around, and in a small refuse pile full of burnable materials, she spotted some cloth-like surface. Lifting herself a few inches from the ground, she glided over. Out of habit, she started to cast a dim red light from her eye to better illuminate it.

She sucked in air through her teeth at the pain. Bubbles had only taught herself to use her penetrating vision with one eye. The sharp, stabbing pain from her right eye keenly reminded her that she'd yet to do the same for anything else.

Inside, Fuzzy paused briefly from his stirring to listen, but returned to it when he heard only the cacophonous silence of the wilderness.

Pressing her right hand against her temple in a futile effort to curb the headache, her left hand grabbed the item and pulled it up. A small trickle of dirt and dead foliage fell from it as it rose.

Inside, Fuzzy stopped again. He eyed the shotgun he'd propped against the wall when he returned from his hunt, but in the end only stoked the stove's flames a little higher.

Bubbles was holding an old, worn-out burlap sack. It was almost transparent in places, but hadn't sprung any holes yet. She smelled it cautiously, but there was no stink of garbage about it. Holding it up, she saw that it hung from the top of her head to halfway down her torso.

She took the edge of the sack in both hands and ripped the seam at the midpoint.

Inside, Fuzzy set his spoon aside, picked up his shotgun, and pressed his head against the door.

Bubbles ripped a hole in other side of the sack.

Fuzzy unlatched the door and opened it slowly. The hinge hadn't seen oil in ages and creaked as he did so.

Bubbles heard the sound. After a quick glance behind her, she threw the sack over her head and shot off into the trees.

Fuzzy led with the gun as he rounded the corner and approached the burn pile. "Whoever's trespassin' on mah property had better git before the count of 'there you is.'"

Examining the pile, a darker, damper spot revealed it had been disturbed. Possibly even something taken from it.

Lowering his gun, he slowly turned his head to survey the area. It was dark, but the stars were bright and his various senses keen enough.

Seeing no immediate threat, he poked the pile with the end of the gun, but no creatures emerged. It was possible some critter had taken a liking to something and ran off with it.

Fuzzy paused to sniff the air, but caught no scent of musk or fur. But there was a lingering hint of something he didn't recognize. Some smell not of the woods. Something clean. Artificial. Fake. Some scent the city folk would probably like.

He pointed his gun skyward and fired. The forest nearby quieted. As the brief ringing in his ears passed, he heard only more distant noises and the crackling of his fire.

"If I catch you around here again, the next one's not going into the air, you hear me?"

The only answer was that of the fire.

And it was loud.

Fuzzy's nose twitched as the smell reached it. He spun around to see flames dancing inside his windows.

"Aw, shoot!" he cried, running back and flinging open the door. He held his arm over his face to protect it from the heat, the tips of his fur starting to singe and smoke. The stove door was left open, but this was no accident. Scraps of cloth had been set on fire and draped over furniture, piled against walls, and even on the firewood pile piled against the side of the cabin front.

"Who done this?" he cried into the night as he turned around, standing to the side of the door to avoid the heat from within.

A short figure wearing city clothes—and an old sack from his burn pile, it seemed—stood in front of him, not ten feet away, clearly visible in the light of the flames.

Fuzzy cried out in anger and took aim. As soon as he pulled the trigger, she vanished like some imagined figment.

He felt a strong hand grab his upper right arm. She spoke with a hollow voice, slightly feminine, with a forced hoarseness. "That's for all the damage you've caused."

Fuzzy felt a tremendous pressure, then a sharp pain as his bone cracked.

After his initial cry of pain subsided, the figure added, "And that's for all the people you've hurt."

Fuzzy grabbed the barrel of his gun with his left hand and and swung it like a club, swiping at what, once again, became empty air.

"If you ever," the voice continued from behind him. Fuzzy spun around to face her, ignoring the pain of his broken arm as it flopped, the uncomfortable heat at his back. "_Ever_ hurt another person again, I will hurt you in _all_ the ways you hurt them."

Fuzzy sneered and threw the gun, this time not surprised when the figure vanished.

This time, he felt her presence behind him, sensing it as he felt something block the heat from the doorway. He took her by surprise, grabbing her by the arm with his good hand and barreling them both into the house. She fell into the flames and he picked up a flaming rocking chair in his good hand, ignoring the pain in his bad arm as he swung down. Stunned, the figure accepted the blow, the flame-weakened wood shattering at the impact.

Fuzzy's fur had caught fire in the blaze, but when he dropped to his knees it was apparently only to swing a better punch. His good fist crashed into the floor, barely missing the figure's head as she rolled to the side.

Fuzzy dove at her, but she raised her foot in time to catch him, pushing him into the air, where he thudded into the opposite wall. When he got to his knees he couldn't see for all the blinding flames and obscuring smoke. He slowly crawled for the doorway and returned to the night, coughing and choking on smoke, his movements an agony of burn wounds and charred clothing fused to his smoking fur and seared skin.

The figure stood by the doorway, clothing and sack blackened in places but not presently burning. Bubbles didn't try to disguise her voice any longer, but the tone of sadness and disappointment was no less unlike her.

"Why did you have to do this?" she asked.

"Ge' off..." Fuzzy breathed.

"I wanted to break your leg like hers, but no. Out here in the woods, with no one to turn to, unable to walk, you'd probably die."

"Ge' off," Fuzzy growled more forcefully, weakly pulling himself closer.

"So I thought I'd go easier on you. Now look at what you've done to yourself. Too angry to save even your _own_ life."

Fuzzy's left hand weakly wrapped around Bubbles's ankle. "Off..."

Bubbles watched him fall unconscious after those final words, still using her powers to peer through the bag she hadn't bothered making eye-holes for. She felt his grip on her ankle go weak and stepped backwards out of it.

His fur had mostly burned away, along with large patches of skin. She listened to his heart as it beat more weakly, more erratically. Immediate medical care was his only hope.

In the light of the fire, Bubbles spotted a pile of tools beside the shack. Before the fire spread through the walls and claimed it, Bubbles picked up a shovel.

* * *

Professor stood for a moment, frozen in his horror, helpless as he heard a thud on the warehouse floor below. Smaller then Sedusa's, but no less sickening to hear.

His eyes darted around in the darkness, looking for stairs leading down. Spotting some just down the way, he ran, feet clanging on the metal catwalk as he went.

His footsteps were the only sound he heard.


	28. Erratic Shapes

Chapter 28

[Erratic Shapes]

Bubbles's upper lip curled briefly in a sneer as she observed the Gangreen Gang from the rafters above. They'd presently taken up residence in rusty, abandoned factory. It was almost dawn, but they were still hooting and hollering and patting themselves on the back for sake of last evening's haul. Taken, she expected, the same place most of their recent success had come. Random muggings. Purse snatching. Even the odd store holdup.

Bubbles didn't have long to finish this. Only the length of a long shower. Less if Princess checked in on her back at the hotel room.

She gripped the sickle in her hand. Wondered if she was ready for this. Fuzzy had gone all wrong. She wasn't prepared. Wasn't ready to be someone else. She'd tried to scare him, to hurt him a little, and he'd wound up dead.

She wasn't sad about it. Not anymore. She might have set things in motion, but in the end he did it to himself.

This would be different. She knew it would.

The Harvester dropped from the ceiling, wooden geta hitting the concrete floor with a reverberating smack. She heard a small tearing sound beneath her as her knees bent and spread to absorb the impact. She winced, reminding herself to cut a slit in her "skirt sack" later for freer movement. At least, if she planned to keep wearing this getup.

The Gangreen Gang scattered, reeling backwards. Ace fell into a chair, which then tipped onto its back.

Cries of "Whoa," snippets of profanity, and...fear. Genuine fear. Maybe it was the sudden, unexpected entrance, but for once they weren't taunting and teasing. For once, they were afraid of her.

"Wh—who the hell are you, man?" Ace demanded. "What do you want from us?"

Bubbles paused. She hadn't considered she might need a name. She'd been a superhero her whole life, but this dual identity thing was pretty unfamiliar territory.

She spoke in the roughest, gruffest voice she could manage without sounding ridiculous. "I'm..." She paused, hoping it would be interpreted as dramatic effect. "The Harvester. And I'm sick and tired of scum like you left to walk around."

"Heh," Ace laughed. "Heh heh." Soon, he and the others were laughing as uproariously as they had before her entrance. And why wouldn't they? What did it matter to them? Another hero, another cop. It would all play out the way it always had. Nothing to worry about. Not in the long run.

Beneath her "hood," Bubbles gritted her teeth and pulled her lips back in a full sneer. This is exactly what she was here to change.

She darted over to Ace, taking a swing with her sickle. She was careful to come up short of causing serious injury, but she left a pretty nasty gash on his forehead before she back-flipped back to where she started.

It bled profusely. She expected his. Head wounds were...scary. But he'd be all right.

Their laughter had stopped.

"There's nothing funny about this. About what you do. About what I'm about to do. Creeps like you need to face consequences for your actions. The 'heroes' who get their hands on you and walk away, knowing—_knowing_ you'll walk free again, knowing they'll see you again...and again...and again. People like that are no better. But I'm not like them. I'm here to change things. I don't want to see you hurt anyone again. Ever."

Ace once more wiped blood from his eyes, having tied a bandana over the wound during her tirade. "Well up yours, scum_bag_," Ace taunted, emphasizing the "bag" part of his denial. "Get 'im, boys!"

This was the easy part, Bubbles thought to herself. The hard part would be holding back. But only a little. She'd given some thought to how far she was willing to go. No killing, obviously, but scars were okay. Maybe damage some leg muscles and leave someone with a limp to remember this night. If they still didn't get the message, she _might_ lop off a finger or two. And if _absolutely_ necessary...she'd be okay if one of them lost an eye.

But it shouldn't come to that. It was all about how far she had to go to get her message out. With pushovers like these, it wouldn't be that far.

Big Billy would have been slow to lumber over, but was surprisingly quick to throw an empty oil drum from across the way. Bubbles dipped low, further ripping her "skirt" as she reduced her profile to less than a foot. For anyone without powers of flight, it would have required remarkable balance.

In fact, why not play up that 'agility?' Who needed to know she could fly?

Just as quickly as she'd dodged the barrel, she shot up and leaned backwards, avoiding Snake's swift swing of a metal pipe. If the fight against Mojo's turrets had seemed to go in slow motion, this fight was practically at freeze frame speed. Still leaning backwards, Bubbles carefully lifted her sickle, running just the tip through Snake's front side.

She felt the scratching, tearing sensation as the point ran through his skin. It tore his shirt at first, but after she got a good hole started his shirt just pulled up with the blade.

His skin fared worse. She watched as Snake's body finally reacted to what was happening. Slowly, his sneer turned into a grimace. As the blade inched upwards, his teeth started to part in what she knew would become a yell of pain.

She glanced downward. Even distantly, through the blade and handle, she felt the ripping sensation of what would probably come out as a clean cut. At this scale of time, a quick swipe was a rich experience. She watched with detached fascination as Snake's shirt continued to ride up, slowly revealing the cut she was making.

Lost in the moment, she was surprised when she felt stronger resistance. Glancing up, she realized she'd reached his sternum. Almost reluctantly, she withdrew the sickle. It would have been just as easy to continue cutting, but that kind of strength might be too revealing.

Her perceptions accelerated as she resumed moving backwards, turning what had been a dodge-and-slice ages ago into a back-flip. Time slowed again as she hung upside down in midair. The movement was putting her close to Grubber, charging from behind. His head was lowered, and he seemed ready to leap into the air. Whether to headbutt or tackle, she wasn't certain.

Again time sped up. Bubbles just wanted...more. More than a snapshot in time could offer. Her geta clapped onto the floor again as she completed her flip. The sound echoed, reverberated in the vast, hard spaces of the factory. Even as the scene moved forward she heard it. A loud clack as she landed. A softer one echoed shortly after—then two more, intricately intertwined as they rebounded off opposite walls to return to her ears in the same moment.

She began to spin, crouching lower as she went. Another tiny clack rebounded from another wall, and a tinier one still from some other surface she couldn't pinpoint. How long would that one slap continue to echo for ears like hers?

Her arm swung wide as she continued her spin, sickle held tightly. It made a funny sound as it swung through the air. Soft, but heard clearly over the ever-fainter barrage of clacks reverberating from every surface around them.

Grubber's toes were all that connected him to the ground, and not for much longer. Though he moved in slow motion, Bubbles understood he was doing his best to launch himself into the air at her.

As the sickle's edge drew closer to him, Bubbles understood its sound more clearly. Not just a whistling as it cut through the air, but a faint, melodic ringing. A musical sound of the thin, pristine blade vibrating as it pushed through the air around it.

Well, the blade was almost pristine. Tip stained with Snake's blood, the momentum of the swing was causing even that thin coating to pool on the edge. Bubbles watched closely as it swelled ever so gently. A moment later, a tiny droplet of blood separated, suspended in the air. Slowly, it spun and wobbled, carried by momentum and forces Bubbles would never put to numbers like a physicist. Yet, those physics were beautiful and enticing.

She felt her sickle hit something, hit Grubber, but her eye continued to follow the path of the wayward droplet of blood.

Only when her spin turned her too far to watch any longer did she take note of what she'd done to Grubber. It was a deeper cut, she realized, but her speed was such that she'd run the blade from one side of his abdomen to the other before he drew too close. If he'd been moving any faster, or she any slower, it would have been a deep cut indeed.

She'd subconsciously extended her leg for balance as she swung about. Adjusting its position, she shifted her weight onto it. It started as a sidestep and turned into a cartwheel.

The moment was so present. So "here." The muffled sound of air as she moved through it. The clumsier sound of her blade as it whooshed through on its broad side this time. She noted that it didn't sing. It only sung when the thinnest sliver of it danced through the air. It only sang when it reached for flesh.

Her movements felt so graceful and easy. She imagined his is how it felt to truly practice Tai Chi. Fluid. Graceful. Flowing.

Blood flowed. Limbs flailed, bodies recoiled, sending more droplets soaring. A cut along someone's forearm, and soon the specks seemed to be floating everywhere.

She wore more than a nightgown. Her feet were not allowed to feel the weight, the power of the floor beneath them as they had at Mojo's. Instead, she felt the caress of her clothes and her burlap disguise as it slid to and fro. Her feet felt a different kind of solidity in the stiff wood strapped to them, only the barest cushion of sock attempting to disguise it.

Even through the sack on her head, even in the stale air of a factory that no longer breathed, her every breath could have been drawn of a crisp, autumn breeze in untouched wilderness. Every slow, measured breath. Every methodical, calm beat of her heart.

Once again, there was no fear. No doubt. No past. No future. Only the here and now mattered.

In time, the flow stopped. The dance slowed. The tiny, beautiful worlds of red drifting through the air ceased.

Her foot clacked against the floor one last time. This time, the echo came and went in an instant.

In that same instant, the air became grimy and warm. Her heart began picking up pace, seeming eager to make up for lost time. She felt the heat and blood drain from her face, and from the sudden weight in her stomach it seemed to have dropped there all at once.

She turned her head, her eye, peering through the featureless sack covering her head. Streaks and trails of blood marred the floor, many smeared by wandering feet. Fleeing feet. Feet of people who had long ago reached and exceeded the level of fright she'd planned.

There seemed to be no movement now. No sound other than her breath as she began to pant, and pant for reasons other than exertion.

Panic arose. It stole her attention, and the slow-motion world so full of sensation became a distant memory.

She turned her eyes and ears to the bodies around her. So many cuts. Never too deep, but always too many. Her own heart skipped a beat as she heard a quiet "wa-thump" from Big Billy's heart. Focusing her senses on it, she waited, hoping. Desperately hoping.

After moments that could have been eons, it swelled with half a final beat. Then, it relaxed, and stirred no more.

She looked around again, hoping she was mistaken. She was not. Not one of the four limp forms around her would ever rise again.

Four?

She perked up her ears.

Yes! A heartbeat. A strong, fluttering heartbeat. She spun around and looked, but saw nothing. Listening closer, she narrowed down its source. Adjusting her eyesight, she peered into a nearby locker. Arturo peered through tiny slats, heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he tried to hyperventilate as quietly as his panic would allow.

Earlier, their fear was all Bubbles had wanted. Now the weight of it threatened to heave up her last meal.

Her body, her more primitive mind, snapped into auto-pilot as her thinking mind continued to struggle. Bubbles made a show of glancing around the room, as if looking for survivors. In the process, she noted the first rays of dawn's light grace the skies outside.

Rather than take flight or zip out in the blink of an eye, Bubbles made a point of running out of the factory like a normal person. Her geta slapped and clacked against the floor as she went.

Though neither the run nor the fight were any struggle, Bubbles continued to pant. Indeed, as she ran it felt as if she were running away from something. Meanwhile, she continued to listen to Arturo's own panting, his horror not abating in the least as she departed.

Bubbles did not relish his fear.

She shared it.

* * *

"Bubbles!" Professor called out, trying to work his way back to roughly where he thought she landed. "Bubbles, where are you!"

He heard a faint, wet cough. He ran over, fumbling for a pocket flashlight.

He shone it on her as he arrived. Blood was pooling under her head. Flecks of it dotted her face. Perhaps coughed up a moment ago, only to land on her.

"Bubbles, God—no!" Professor cried as he ran to her side. He set the flashlight down nearby to free up his hands, its glow only indirectly illuminating the two of them. "It's going to be okay, sweetie. Everything's going to be okay."

Bubbles smiled up at him weakly. "You're right. I know. Everything's going to be okay now."


	29. The Fog, Part II

Chapter 29

[The Fog, Part II]

Bubbles watched. Even when it hurt, she watched.

It didn't just hurt her eye, though it grew tired and dry. That was problematic enough, as she struggled to hide her growing tiredness from Professor and Princess when they gathered to discuss the Harvester investigation. How other superheroes put up with this dual life, dual identity business was beyond her.

"How," but not "why." Not "why," because she understood. Half blind, she saw twice as well. Twice as much. She'd spent her life in the light, but cast half into darkness she now saw everything.

Everything.

And it hurt. Not only to see those things—to _truly_ look at them—but to stand by and do nothing. Hurt to admit she'd always been standing by. Always doing nothing.

True enough, she couldn't fix everything. Even now she accepted that. But she and her sisters had turned a blind eye to many things. Bubbles would have found the analogy humorous if it didn't fit so well. If not for the feeling her blind eye was turning her, rather than the other way around.

Bubbles had her reasons for doing nothing. After the Gangreen Gang, she certainly had cause to question whether she should get involved ever again. After a good night's sleep in the hotel room with Princess, she'd reflected on what had passed. In the end, she believed she hadn't lost control. She'd done exactly what she wanted, but didn't dare to admit.

It had been easy enough to find someone. Just perk up her ears and listen for anguish. In truth, she'd found people doing many terrible things these last few nights. She could have focused her attentions on any one of them, but she'd chosen this one.

Even with that focus, she took time to observe events elsewhere. Indeed, this man wasn't always worth her attention. But right now, at this moment, he was. Right now, Bubbles was preparing to kill him.

No trying to save her own life. No teaching someone a lesson. No fooling herself. Before the night was over, this man—an ordinary man by the name of Danny Prior—would cease to be.

It would be easy enough to turn him in instead. There'd be evidence enough of his crimes, especially if Bubbles got involved at the right time. He'd almost certainly be convicted and suffer justly.

But it wasn't that simple. Bubbles, spying on people and invading their privacy. Bubbles, with only the tacit, cautious approval from the authorities that any vigilante ever had. Bubbles, the public target people would gladly use for their political machinations. Bubbles, easily cast as a criminal in spite of her catching one in the process. Not that simple at all.

Did he really deserve to die? Bubbles hadn't even asked herself that question. It hadn't even crossed her mind. Not because it wasn't worth asking, but because it no longer seemed relevant to her.

It was an effort to restrain herself tonight. She'd already made up her mind, so why let him harm his daughter one last time? In truth, she hadn't asked herself that question, either.

Her hand clutched her sickle, but it was an effort to not crush the handle. To not wring the blade like putty in her hands. When the time came, she would not doubt. Would not hesitate. By then, there'd be no mercy in her heart, no sanctuary for her victim to hide in. To make sure of that, she watched.

He finished. Less concerned about any noise his daughter might make now, he opened a window in the second story hallway to take in the coolness of the night. As he walked downstairs, it took in something else as well.

Bubbles floated along without a whisper of sound. It's a funny thing, though, that even silence can be conspicuous. They all lived in a world full of noise in its quietest moments, even noise as minor as the faint hum of electricity in a house. A soft form, like a person's body, could change the dynamics of sound in a room.

Bubbles knew this. While the father stood, perusing his fridge for a late-night snack or drink, she glided close to him. Not close enough for him to feel her warmth, or for her breath to pass through her burlap sack and tickle the nape of his neck. But close enough for him to eventually realize something was there.

The changes, though subtle and slow, were almost tangible to her. With her ears focused, his breath was a rush of wind through a canyon. His heartbeat deep, resonating. He was still slightly worked up, slightly out of breath, but cooling down. Each breath a little slower. Each beat a little gentler.

She could tell when he started to feel something was off, but couldn't quite place it. A slight delay in the next heartbeat, which pounded a little harder to make up the difference. Just a moment, just a small thing, quickly over with, unnoticed even by the man himself.

He sucked in a big breath of air through his nose, held it for the briefest moment, then puffed it out all at once. Trying to soothe his nerves without being aware of it.

Even as he became worked up, Bubbles felt her own rage drain away. Rage she'd carefully cultivated for several nights, and had built to a crescendo this night. A burning fire in her heart, replaced a mechanical coolness that was becoming ever more familiar to her.

Though she could neither see this in the dark, nor hear it with her ears, nor feel it at this distance, somehow Bubbles still felt the other changes. Blood drained away from some areas. Surged to others. She could imagine the tiny tingle of energy along his spine. A chill, most would say, but more of a call to attention.

He answered that call, spinning around and seeing her in the light of the fridge. Bubbles watched in slow motion as his body seemed to lift up slightly, recoiling in surprise. It was so much more interesting to her than his face, though it certainly bore an expression of shock for a time.

Bubbles waited patiently as his body and mind began to react. He held a glass bottle in his hand, and he started raising that hand into the air. Bubbles watched with fascination at his body, though tired and unpracticed, deftly nudged the bottle into a spin.

At first, he'd been holding it by the neck, thumb near the top, most of the bottle hanging below his hand. Now, even as his hand raised into the air, his grip loosened. The bottle pivoted as it rose up until, at the highest height, his grip strengthened again. Now the bottle had reversed its position in his hand, the fat bottom raised high into the air as he prepared to strike.

The body was such an amazing thing, she thought, watching as the bottle meandered its way towards her head. She felt the sack shift slightly as the bottle made contact with an empty corner, though she moved away in the milliseconds before it could hit anything solid.

He was too far into the swing, and too slow to react. The bottle whipped past the spot where her head was, continuing down until the bottom hit the edge of the counter top. Seeing it break apart on the impact was a beautiful sight, even in the dim light of the fridge, further dimmed by the large man standing in front of it.

The man's every heartbeat was a small world of events. Muscles bulged and relaxed, flexed and flattened. If she only saw deeper, she would see an explosion of signals and chemicals. A beautiful mixture of pieces that formed a coherent whole.

To his perception, she'd vanished just before the bottle hit. He turned to see her floating to his left—though he didn't look down far enough to realize her feet hovered inches off the ground. His quick glance at the bottle in his hand told a story of the future that came so slowly it might as well have been a prophecy. His thoughts and plans playing out on his face with the speed at which empires rose and fell.

So she watched as he surged forward, lowering his arm and pulling it back. The broken glass shot forward as he attempted to stab her. Before it made contact, Bubbles raised her sickle, drawing first blood as she casually dodged the fruitless attack.

She cut deep. Deep and clean. Muscles in his arm were severed, and his grip weakened. At the end of his thrust, the bottle continued to soar forward, free from his grasp.

It took a long time for him to give in to fear. Repeatedly, he tried to strike, or punch, or kick, or grab, or elbow, or tackle. Then again, unlike the Gangreen Gang, he was defending his home. He was cornered. He'd heard of the Harvester.

A sliced muscle here, a severed tendon there. A nice gash along the cheek to fuel his anger. Later, she wanted to remove a finger to fuel his fear and panic, but instead she was careful to not show too much of her strength. Careful to always float just above the ground, to give her strikes more height to confuse the inevitable forensics of what was becoming a crime scene. Her crime scene.

He'd shouted. Knocked things over as he bumped into furniture. Even to an outside observer, it was not exactly quick. Certainly not painless.

Longer still was the wait after he stumbled and fell for the last time. He'd made it almost to the foot of the stairs. A surge of strength let him roll over enough to see her. As he continued to bleed out, his strength faded, and she was the last thing he saw.

While she waited, Bubbles's thoughts were turned towards making certain she left no trace of herself. She'd been careful to touch nothing but her sickle's handle, and that its blade touched only her victim. There should be nothing left of this but a maimed body.

She turned her head. Standing at the top of the stairs was his little girl. Likely an orphan at this point, for all Bubbles knew.

The girl was young. Too young to really understand. To comprehend. She was afraid, but did not know why. She saw her father dead, but likely couldn't comprehend a life without him in it.

Bubbles slipped into the kitchen, snatching a towel draped on the handle of the oven door. She used this to unlock and open the front door, taking the scrap of cloth with her as she sank into the darkness.

After she left, she heard the little girl begin to cry. A small, whining, whimpering cry at first, but a throaty wail before long. Bubbles could only guess how long it would take for someone to hear those cries. To see the front door she'd left ajar. For all she knew, the girl would cry herself out and fall asleep atop the stairs.

Once again, Bubbles witnessed pain. This same girl's pain, no less. Once again, she did nothing.

Not for lack of understanding. Nor, certainly, for lack of awareness. Indeed, tonight she had again bathed in awareness. Lost in sensation. In the experience. The raw presence of the moment, and of the world. Simple, cold, and possessed of depth she was only beginning to appreciate.

As the girl cried, there was still something Bubbles dared not admit to herself. Dare not admit she wanted.

However, it wasn't that she wanted to kill the Gangreen Gang. Nor was it her desire to kill this man. These were side effects. Symptoms.

What she truly wanted was to bury her kind, yet fragile heart.

* * *

Professor reached for his cell phone, then paused to look over at Sedusa, lying a short distance away. Not much further was the limp, dark form of E-Male. He looked again at his phone, and at the still-growing pool of blood under her head. There just wasn't time.

He slipped the phone back in his pocket, instead taking one of Bubbles's hands in both of his She squeezed back. Gently, but it was there.

"Daddy," Bubbles said weakly.

_Shh_, Professor had wanted to say. _Don't talk. Don't strain yourself._ But it wouldn't help.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Remember when I first started seeing Princess?" She paused to cough, turning her head so she could spit out a small bit of blood. Most of it ran down her cheek as she turned her head back up. "I told you people could change."

Professor squinted his eyes shut, squeezing away tears. "Yes. Yes, I think so."


	30. Cold Blood

Chapter 30

[Cold Blood]

Princess heard the soft rustle of covers as Bubbles slid her way over.

"Hey, I'm warning you."

Bubbles stopped nearby, propped up on her elbow. "You really are silly, you know that?" She reached out with her other hand to brush aside some of Princess's curly hair. She combed her fingers through it before she rolled forward to kiss Princess on the forehead.

"There are worse things in life to worry about," she said when she'd settled. "That's okay, though. We're all wrong sometimes."

Bubbles reached out her hand again, gently brushing Princess's cheek with the back of her fingers. She stopped, letting it rest there, Princess feeling their coldness as Bubbles felt Princess's skin flush with warmth.

"Some more wrong than others," Bubbles continued, even as her hand started moving again. In the dim moonlight, her two forefingers traced the contours of Princess's face. Princess gasped slightly, about to speak, just before Bubbles slowly ran her fingers over her half-open lips. They dipped just enough below the surface to leave the shortest, faintest trail of moisture as they drifted to her chin.

After Princess felt Bubbles's fingers slide off her face, she spoke. "Bubbles...I...I was just jok—"

Her words were cut off as Bubbles's hand clenched around her neck, pushing her harder into the bed. She managed to choke out a few croaks before Bubbles pressed harder and cut her air off completely.

"You were wrong about the Harvester, too," Bubbles casually whispered as she adjusted her position, throwing one leg over Princess and half-straddling her. Her free hand grabbed one of Princess's own and pinned it down atop the other, above Princess's head. "He already won," Bubbles whispered.

In the dim moonlight, Princess, despite her desperate straining, failed to move in any meaningful way. She saw Bubbles's face illuminated above her in black and white. From a slight fold under the adhesive eye patch, a small opening, she saw a dark trail slowly work its way down Bubbles's cheek.

"He won't let you stop us. I won't let you. I almost visited you the other day. Did you know that? Did you know I saw your people dusting off that little arsenal you told me about? Unlocking, unboxing, moving, and examining? I'm not sure I've ever seen that much activity down there before."

Princess's lungs were burning. Unable to do more than squirm, she clenched her eyes to force out the tears so she could see, trying desperately to communicate the truth of her actions. Somehow.

"Honestly, I'm still not sure whether I believe you. Backing me up? Buttering me up? Keeping my secret? Blackmailing me? I just don't know."

Princess shook with quiet sobs as she flung her head back and forth in the most emphatic "no" she could muster, rapidly losing strength in many ways.

Bubbles leaned down and whispered into Princess's ear. "Either way...I just can't take that chance."

Pulling back, Bubbles tilted her head and stretched out her tongue, licking away a bloody teardrop before it could drift further or drip off. "I'm really sorry about this. I want you to understand that. I'm going to miss you a lot. In a way, you were all I really had anymore."

Princess's stomach convulsed, body trying desperately to draw in any air it could.

"It's going to be hard without you. Really hard. But I'll get through it. Everyone always says to 'be strong.' Funny thing?" Bubbles stopped to laugh, then snorted to suck the moisture up her nose. "Turns out, it's a lot easier to be weak."

In the shadows of the moonlight, Bubbles could barely see the transition, but she felt it clearly. Just as she'd felt the writhing of Princess's wrist as she pinned it down. Felt the warm friction of her body as it nudged and scraped and rubbed beneath her. Felt her shaking, arching, pulling, and twisting. So, too, did she feel her stillness. Her interminable, absolute stillness.

Keeping one hand on Princess's throat, her other relaxed its grip and slid down the length of Princess's arm, feeling its fragile smoothness. It then returned to her wrist and felt for a pulse.

Bubbles wore a sad, wavering smile as she waited. It didn't take as long as she thought.

"Goodbye," she said, using her now-free hands to wipe her own face and upper lip. Floating off the bed, she lowered herself to the floor, onto her knees. All the while careful to not let her hands, stained with her bloody tears, touch anything.

Doubled over, Bubbles pressed one hand over her bad eye and cupped the other under the tip of her nose. She loosed a small, high-pitched whine. It was the closest she could afford to come to wailing. She sobbed for a few minutes, periodically wiping her face again, before taking many deep breaths to steady herself.

When she rose, she took another brief look at Princess before scanning the room. Walking over to a desk in the corner, Bubbles pulled on the knob of a drawer with her foot. Inside, on top, was a carefully-folded handkerchief embroidered with Princess's monogram. She gingerly pinched it and lifted it from the drawer.

For several minutes, she wiped at her hands and face, and even removed her eye patch to wipe the inside. She started using her spit to wipe herself more cleanly before deciding to take another look around the room. In the trash beside Princess's desk was a half-full bottle of white soda. Deciding stickiness was a worthwhile trade-off, she moistened a corner of the handkerchief and wiped more thoroughly. It took a few soakings, but it seemed to be working.

As she cleaned, she ran the names Princess had given through her head. Ruby. Kevan van der Schmidt. She couldn't do anything about them tonight, but she couldn't wait for long.

When she finished wiping off her hands, she drank the remainder of the soda, hoping to minimize the chance of someone spotting an odd redness to it. The handkerchief she spread out along her bottom, beneath her panties. It was slightly moist and uncomfortable, but she'd likely be able to smuggle it out this way.

Finally, she left the desk, carrying her eye patch in one hand and, in the other, a ball bearing she'd grabbed from a small bowl on the desk. It was one of a pair, probably meant to be rolled in the palms as stress relief.

Bubbles set her patch on the nightstand on her side of the bed, intending to don it again in the morning. The ball she began work on carefully. Flattening, rolling, and bending. Most of the effort came in properly sharpening it without shaving it down. Without leaving traces. It was only a rough approximation of a sickle, but the reports she'd seen about the Harvester were all keen on mentioning the clean cuts, so sharpness was paramount.

After finishing with Princess, Bubbles turned the blade to the wall across the foot of the bed. Careful to not be too noisy, she carved a single word into the wallpaper with it, edging the blade a bit to peel and tear the wallpaper in places to make it more visible.

"YOU" it said. Bubbles thought it said everything.

When she'd finished her work with the ball-turned-blade, she wiped most of the blood off on Princess's pajamas. The rest, rather than risk mixing with her own blood on the handkerchief, she licked off after taking several deep breaths to steady herself. Her stomach clenched in several silent sobs as she did so, but she dared not let herself cry again. Dare not raise questions for investigators as to why she was crying just before going to bed. Or during the night.

Slowly, she worked the blade back into a more ball-like shape. It had none of its original finish, and wasn't perfect, but the goal was just to make it easy to transport out in the morning.

This, too, she hid away on her person.

Bubbles then stood again at Princess's side of the bed, silently watching over her. Without thinking, she raised her hand, wanting desperately to close her eyes. Or hold her hand. Or brush away some of the hair that had fallen over her face. Or wipe her now-dry tears away.

She couldn't touch her. Couldn't afford to, now. Could offer no comfort—to either of them—by doing so.

Bubbles paused to look at the clock. It was growing late. She wouldn't get much sleep tonight, but she had to squeeze in what she could to maintain appearances.

As Bubbles slid into the covers on her side of the bed, careful to leave Princess's side as disturbed as possible, she thought back to earlier in the evening. Back to when Princess still thought Bubbles's mind was on the Harvester or Mojo rather than Princess herself.

Sensing Bubbles's lack of merriment, Princess had decided to take Bubbles up on her earlier suggestion of sharing a bed with someone, to experience what that was like. Not just to reach out to Bubbles, but because Princess missed the feeling of Bubbles reaching out to her.

Bubbles felt tears threaten to escape when she thought that she'd denied Princess that experience. Wondered why she couldn't have waited for her to drift to sleep instead. With great strain, she fought back those tears. Reminded herself that, as she had claimed, death wasn't nice.

Sleep was a distant hope. Though she faced away, and though the bed was both large and high quality enough she could have felt nothing from the other side of the it, Princess was a heavy presence beside her. A still, dead weight she couldn't shake.

Once again her mind turned to Princess's suggestion they bunk together. Further back, even, to Bubbles's initial suggestion of the idea back in Europe. Bubbles remembered her best effort to describe what it was like.

Sometimes it's just nice to know someone is there, right next to you, and isn't going away any time soon.


	31. Stairway to Heaven

Chapter 31

[Stairway to Heaven]

Bubbles asked weakly, "You said people could change back, too... Do you still think so?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation, though his voice cracked for other reasons. "Yes, absolutely."

"Is it...too late for me?"

"No," Professor lied, feeling her grip grow weaker in his. "Never."

"I'm so happy," she said, her voice growing weak. "So tired... Do you think I'll see them again?"

"Yes," Professor answered with confidence. "Soon, sweetie. Very soon."

"I'm sorry, daddy. I didn't mean to leave you."

"It's okay," Professor said, freeing a hand to stroke her hair. "It'll all be okay in the end."

Bubbles smiled. Only now did tears seem to come to her. Not in the face of her pain. Nor in the face of death. Only in her father's naively optimistic reply did any real emotion seem to stir up.

"You never stopped...believing." Bubbles's voice was little more than a whisper, now.

"I'm so sorry," Professor breathed.

"No," Bubbles replied. Her voice came and went as her mouth moved. "You were...'derful...'ther... 'ove..."

It was hard to see clearly through his tears, but her final words were easily read from her lips.

"I love you."

Professor raised Bubbles's hand to his forehead. He sobbed openly. This loss, coupled with the others... He couldn't hold it back. His voice, his cries, echoed through the otherwise silent warehouse.

He wasn't certain when he finally stopped. He could have checked his phone, but right now he felt as if he were stranded someplace beyond time. Someplace unreal. For now, at least, he preferred it remain so.

He paused a few more minutes, taking deep, steadying breaths. The police weren't watching. If they had been, they'd surely have responded by now. As for anyone else...at least his car was tucked in an out of the way place.

Still, they would come. They would see. If he left anything to be seen, that is.

Eventually, he'd need an unwitting Ms. Bellum to support his claim that he and Bubbles were never involved in this plan or what unfolded. But he could worry about that later. There was so much to do.

He scanned the area with his flashlight, quickly finding her scythe and the sack that had torn free when she fell. He placed these on Bubbles's chest.

Gently, he slid his arms underneath Bubbles's neck and back. He lifted her from the ground, surprised at how light she seemed. He winced at the slight, sticky resistance of the drying blood.

Only when he stopped at the car did he wonder how to handle this. He was torn between whether to put her in a seat or in the trunk. In the end, he choose the trunk. After setting her inside the surprisingly clean space, he removed his lab coat. Most of the blood had stained that, but if anyone saw him closely, or asked him to step out of his car, they'd see it on his hands and shirt.

With great care, he spread his coat over her still form before closing the trunk over her.

Hours of cleaning later, the engine roared to life with no great fanfare when he turned his key. Just a great big machine, operating as it was designed. Knowing nothing of loss.

Dawn's light was just beginning to grace the sky as Professor backed into his garage. He went ahead, turning on lights and opening doors, leaving a clear path to the basement laboratory.

He returned to the car to carry Bubbles, still wrapped in his coat, down to his inner lab. Though rigor mortis was setting in, he encountered only minor difficulty in laying her flat on the table. He undressed her first, setting her burlap sacks and undergarments in a pile nearby. Then he crossed her hands over her chest, one hand resting atop the other.

She looked just like her sisters. Well, just like Blossom and Ashley. The latter was practically Buttercup. Close enough, at least, for some purposes.

They were so well preserved, it was hard to tell they had passed so much earlier than Bubbles herself. The space would become more cramped, now, with the three of them there. Then again, with no fear of Bubbles slipping into the basement, maybe he could spread out of the tiny side room. Outside the space he'd shielded from even his girls' eyes and ears.

Professor washed himself at a nearby sink, then donned a fresh labcoat and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

So much to do.

* * *

Author's Afterward:

Well, this took a good deal longer than expected. Life getting in the way is only partly to blame, as I just as often had to put this aside until I realized how I wanted to continue.

Originally, I'd wanted to preserve the theme of growing insanity and isolation. Something as trite as a split personality. Instead, I felt there should be something conscious and deliberate to Bubbles's actions.

This proved challenging to convey. The need to delay the reveal grew stronger, and the difficulty in showing Bubbles's descent increased with the simultaneous need to hide it. In the end, I feel satisfied with what I've done, and can only hope the same is true for you, dear reader. Whether or not I managed to pull the wool over your eyes, I hope you enjoyed the ride.

Each step forward in this series has prompted further questions. Hopefully, the planned fourth and final stretch of this story will come together more easily and bring us even more answers. Whether you've stuck with us for the ride so far or have only recently joined us, I truly hope you look forward to joining us for the closing chapters of this saga.


End file.
